


Writ Upon Flesh

by Filthycasual



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Ambush, Attacking, Beheading, Biting, Blood, Captive, Charming - Freeform, Dark Imagery, Deceit, Disfigurement, Drunk dry humping, Eating Cum, Fellatio, Fetish, Fighting, Flashbacks, GorZsasz - Freeform, Gordlock - Freeform, Gore, Gotham fanart, Graphic Imagery, Groping, Gun Fight, Jealousy, Killing, Kink, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Murder, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-consensual sex, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Roleplay, Seducing, Serial Killer, Sexual Compulsion, Shooting, Slash, Stabbing, Stalking, Subtle hints of Freezewald, Taking Advantage, Thoughts of Rape, Thoughts of death, Threatening, Torture, Unapologetic, Unsettling Imagery, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Zsaszlepot, beating up, dark compulsions, deviant thoughts, drunk, forced fellatio, harrassment, hints of gordlock, knife fight, possessive, protective Mr Freeze, reunited, sexy fighting, subtle hints of Carmine/Zsasz relationship, thoughts of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filthycasual/pseuds/Filthycasual
Summary: Victor Zsasz returns to Oswald Cobblepot but brings with him a dark secretive past too powerful to keep hidden. Jim Gordon, along with the GCPD, investigate Edward Nygma’s whereabouts. This AU fic follows season three finale.





	1. Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor Zsasz makes a sudden re-appearance in Oswald’s life but brings with him a dark secret that maybe his undoing. In the midst of reclaiming his criminal empire, Oswald faces off against Jim Gordon and the GCPD over Edward and now has to deal with the uncertainty of Don Falcone's vegeance.

 

 

— 卌 —

Victor Zsasz leisurely wanders into the empty office after making quick work of the locked door. He takes in the ostentatious interior, nodding his approval as he lightly runs his gloved-hand over various smooth surfaces. He pauses behind a large ebony desk eyeing the high back chair firmly tucked into the slotted space. The velvet upholstery is dyed in a rich royal purple pigment and framed by dark etched wood, most likely handcrafted. He pulls the chair out and immediately plops down onto the throne like cathedra. His action elicits a waft from the cushy seating; he’s ensconced in the faded notes of vetiver and lavender. The scent lingers like an apparition, just a flicker and nothing more. He turns his head and inhales deeply of the backrest where he imagines a wary head would lean after a long day. He moans when he catches the whiff of the all too familiar hair product. He slowly gets up as he lovingly eyes the chair, placing it precisely the way he found it. He flicks his wrist up to view the time; he briskly strolls to a dark corner of the room to await Oswald’s arrival.

Victor considers himself a patient man when it comes to obtaining what he desires. When he was a young man that wasn’t always the case. His Don taught him how to tame his restless appetite and to curb his urges when acting on them was not in his best interest.

Other than his dark and restless compulsion to hunt, not much phases Victor; he’s never been afflicted by emotions. But he can feel something akin to happiness, but mostly it’s just pride. Such as, when he achieves a boss’s praise or when killing a difficult mark. What drives him the most are his instincts and the myriad of carnal desires that grip him till the hungry beast within is satiated— _be it with blood or sexual conquest._

_Or both._

He’s felt _it’s_ presence since he was just a small boy roaming the streets of Gotham. He bounced from one foster home to another; he was a difficult and violent little runt.

_Till that last one._

Victor inhales a deep slow breath as his teeth grind on edge. He switches his thoughts back to Oswald and the promise of rekindling their old business relations.

 _Then perhaps_ **_something more._**

His funk turns to eagerness (...dare he say... _elation?_ ) It has been a little over six months since Oswald’s supposed death. Zsasz didn’t mourn his passing, but he couldn’t shake how often he thought about the small man. Oswald was a man full of schemes and treachery— _ambition_. Those were the traits he admired the most of the upstart lackey. After his death, Victor lamented the passing the way he would when missing a clear headshot on a mark: displeasure at the long gone opportunity.

_Slipped through my fingers. Of everyone I’ve ever killed, his death is the one I’ve always deprived myself of._

Victor never gives credence to things like luck, but since hearing of the kingpin’s resurrection the assassin can say without a doubt he feels lucky.

_A second chance._

Victor absently places the fingertips of his right hand over his heart; he briefly strokes the tips of his fingers to the thick fabric of his buttoned-up coat. He drops his arm as he furrows his brow.

_The one space on my body I’ve saved for him._

Victor scoffs as he beams a large grin down at his chest.

_I suppose I am sentimental after all._

He leans his back on the wall ensuring he is nestled deep in the dark shadows of the office. The finished room sits on the second floor of a large, work-in-progress night club. Victor shakes his head when he thinks back on the heady days of elaborate crime sprees; high adventures which yielded vast amounts of wealth and notoriety. The old mansion halls he once haunted were always abuzz with the processions of self important mafia bosses and crime lords. Large numbers migrated there nightly to sit at Penguin’s table. Each faction coming to pay their respects in hopes of getting the largest slice of Gotham. Then towards the end, the polished days of Oswald’s mayoralship: Charity balls, fundraisers, public events— tiresome. But Mayor Cobblepot paid him very well so he stayed.

Well that and his fascination with the small man that has persisted over the years.

His eyes flash when he hears the door to the study open. He remains perfectly still as he watches the diminutive crime lord shuffle towards his minibar to pour himself a drink. Victor examines every detail of the oblivious man. His long raven hair combed down and to the side; a glint of purple hue gleams on a long lock. He’s wearing a Louis Copeland three piece suit, tailored to fit. It’s a stony gray ensemble with subtle pinstripes that he coupled with an amethyst button up and cerulean tie. His silver cuffs links twinkle a couple of times in the dim glow of dusty desk lamps stationed by the seating area.

The man makes a straight line to his fireplace and ignites the bundled wood with the gas lighter built into the stone face. Oswald stands in deep contemplation as the fire takes hold of the dry logs. He then turns and plops into his sumptuous antique 19th century Victorian sofa. He brings a large crystalline glass filled with some inexpensive Coppola red to his lips.

Victor tilts his head as he watches on. The corners of his mouth pull down; he’s disappointed with the lack of guards that once surrounded the small beautiful man. He surmises with the presence of the Indian Hill escapees that Oswald is confident of his safety. Victor’s grin turns into a large open mouth smile, unblinking eyes remain affixed to his subject.

 _So small… so defenseless. It would be so easy. He always keeps things interestin’. That’s why I’ve never tried to..._ **_collect_ ** _… him._

Oswald sits deep in thought about the many things still left undone with the lounge. The large building will house multi levels each containing bars and dance floors. The center will have a large stage for live performances and for his prize center piece: _The Riddler_.

He and his _freak_ family have been extraordinarily busy getting a hold of the underworld. The special talents of his associates have made the accumulation of territories an easy task especially since the disappearance of Barbara and Tabitha left a major hole in Gotham gang hierarchy. Every small time gang and faction fought to replace them; Oswald and his family swooped in and cleaned house with great ease; none dared to challenge them for long.

Ivy with her special talents assure alliances are true. She can easily acquire any information from hapless victims with the influence of her perfumes. Then there is Mr. Freeze and Firefly, the both of them are excellent at neutralizing all opponents when situations take a violent turn.

Oswald spent majority of the day placing orders for the lounge and had his men make deliveries of cash and items to his distributors for various goods. He’s in the middle of enjoying a nightcap; he drinks often and heavily these days. He does it mostly to forget Edward and his own part in the failed relationship. The Riddler is in a large freezer sub level of the lounge; kept secure within Victor Fries’s laboratory below. The frozen scientist is using the space to research his cure and to build an extensive system for the Nygma ice feature.

Victor’s shark like smile enlarges when he decides that now is a good time to make his presence known.

Oswald sits unaware of a shadowy figure approaching. The silent intruder hurdles the back of the couch and plops next to the contemplative kingpin.

Oswald startles out of his thoughts when he feels the couch shift. The kingpin immediately grabs for his cane and unsheathes a dagger concealed within. He spins around as he clenches his teeth; the small Damascus blade expertly aimed at the intruder’s throat. His eyes pop wide open when he recognizes the grinning pale face. The blade doesn’t relent from its position, in fact, the sharp point comes in closer. Oswald's hard gaze remains level and unflinching.

Zsasz grins from ear to ear; unbothered by the threat of steel. He drawls as he nods.

“Long time no see.”

Victor’s eyes scan the flustered kingpin as he leans back against the couch; the blade following his subtle action.

Oswald screeches through clenched teeth as he brings the blade tip down to Victor’s ribs.

“Zsasz, what are you doing here!?”

Oswald is sure that Zsasz’s visit has to do with Carmine; he fumes as his green eyes hold steady on his visitor. His blade hand twitches in anticipation of repeatedly plunging the small steel into the assassin.

Victor peers down, his smile turns lopsided; he shrugs as he crosses his legs. He returns his gaze to Oswald’s fierce eyes; he raises an eyebrow. He could easily disarm the small man, but he didn’t feel it necessary. If Penguin had actually wanted to stab him he would have done it already.

The small kingpin scowls; displeased with Victor’s nonchalant demeanor. His bitterness rises when he remembers the assassin’s disappearance when he ‘ _returned from the dead’_. He had sought the elusive enforcer many times since returning to Gotham and each attempt was met with silence.

Oswald’s face flushes red with anger as his nostrils flare with heavy breaths.

Victor finally addresses Oswald when he sees the small kingpin’s patience is wearing thin. He chirps with a large smile.

“I came to visit my favorite boss.”

Oswald’s temper flares with the statement; livid over the lackadaisical response he barks threateningly.

“Oh really?! Just came in for a visit did you?”

The kingpin felt slighted by Zsasz’s silence and wasn’t about to forgive him so easily. He brings the blade back up to Victor’s throat. During the early stages of his empire re-establishment he heard that the assassin returned to the Falcone family. He’s still angry over that fact; Victor’s men and expertise is something Oswald had sorely missed.

Seeing Zsasz now, Oswald realizes he missed more than his skills. His face loses its hardness as he peers deep into Victor’s large dark eyes; his boyish smile is hard to ignore as it cracks deep into his porcelain features. Oswald swallows down a small lump in his throat; his grip on the weapon relents slightly.

The assassin notices the subtle shift in mood; he lets his own gaze travel all over the angry man. Victor could never get enough of Oswald, especially when he’s in the throes of a tantrum. He always loved how the small man exudes radiance when his rage is ignited. He nods his head as the corners of his mouth pull down. He always appreciated how money and power agrees with the small man. His smile returns when he peers back at those large, pale green eyes; he knows Oswald missed him.

Victor holds his hands up in a peaceful gesture as he replies.

“I came ‘cause you called me; remember? Sorry… I uh… couldn’t come sooner. I was busy.”

Victor blinks.

Oswald sighs and returns his blade back into his walking cane sheath. His glare deepening as he blurts out.

“Really, Victor, six months!? What makes you think I want to hire you now?”

Zsasz shrugs as he states.

“You’re doin’ pretty well for yourself, but you’re makin’ too many mistakes. Those freaks of yours are gonna grab the GCPD’s attention...freezin’ and burnin’ everything. I provide stealth and precision, somethin’ you’re gonna need… boss.”

Victor raises an eyebrow as his smirk holds steady.

Oswald examines the man beside him. He mentally admits to himself that Zsasz is still one of his favorites. The history the both of them share is hard to ignore. Victor fought alongside him when he sought revenge on Galavan for his mother’s death and he was there to unveil Butch’s treacherous involvement when he ran the usurpers called The Red Hood Gang.

 _During_ _that_ _time_ _period_ _Victor_ _would_ _often_ _stare_ _at_ me _with_ _long_ _lingering_ _looks_ _as_ _he_ _tortured_ _prisoners_ _who_ _tested_ _me_.

Victor grins as the hard look on Oswald’s face relents; he notices a blush forming on those freckled cheeks. His eyes rake across the small man’s body; he leans in close as he states.

“I left Carmine to come work for you.”

Oswald sucks in a quick breath as his head swivels. He eyes Victor up and down as he snarks.

“Oh, so you’re just going to jump ship now that Carmine doesn’t need you anymore?

Oswald flutters his eyelashes at Victor as his lips press tightly.

Victor lowers the corners of his mouth into a grimace. His brow furrows as he states incredulously.

“Uh... _yeah_ … unless you think heavy fistin’ rival gangs is the best way to go 'bout business? I imagine Gordon and Bullock will one day come crashin’ through those pretty doors of yours along with the rest of the police force if you keep that up.”

Oswald grabs his glass and scarfs down the rest of his drink. He mentally admits that Freeze and Firefly bring too much attention when they are out handling matters of rival gangs. Ivy, although effective with her gifts, had no real experience fighting.

Oswald gets up to refill his glass. He sloppily mixes vodka and cranberry juice, he brings the wet, dripping crystal edge to his lips and drinks it all down. He turns to Victor and nods in acquiescence as he wipes his chin. He inhales a quick breath to speak but Zsasz interrupts him.

“I start tonight. By the way, you have spies. I… uh… rounded two up.”

The assassin stands; he slips his thumbs under his shoulder holster as he beams a large smile. He flashes his lower teeth, tilting his head and speaking as he closes in on the small man.

“They were seen many times goin’ back and forth to what remains of the Gilzean gang. They’re tryin’ to get more people so they can raid your lounge. I had a couple of my women keep an eye on you as I tied up business with Don Falcone. Might wanna get that pretty redhead over here to question them… _boss_.”

Oswald stares at Victor’s deadpan face; unable to react to the news of spies. His anger and outrage suspended at Victor’s admittance over watching him. He scoffs, finally chuckling as he states.

“My, how I’ve missed you.”

Zsasz gives Oswald an open mouth smile, flashing all of his teeth at the confession. His eyes slowly roll up and down the small form as the man retrieves his phone to call Ivy. He had been disappointed when he heard of Oswald’s passing brought on by Chief of Staff, Edward Nygma. When he discovered that Penguin was indeed still alive and looking for him, he dispatched two of his girls to watch over him.

Victor feels his body pulse with a familiar need, followed by strong tingle that crawls and creeps up his back and towards his scalp. His heartbeat thrums loudly through his ears; the faint whispers in his head begin to emerge. He leans in and takes a whiff of the distracted man’s scent. He exhales a silent moan as notes of vanilla, spices and cedar settle and tantalize his senses. He sidles up closer to Oswald; enjoying the high pitch of his voice as he vehemently explains to his redhead the need for her skills.

Oswald ends his call with Ivy and quickly dials out again to reach Freeze.

“Victor, gather the guards into the large store room out back. Do not let them leave, freeze them if they try. We have spies.”

Zsasz raises an eyebrow when he hears his name; he turns to leave the office but scrunches his face in confusion at the last command. He halts.

_How would I freeze them? Oh._

It's then he realizes that the person Oswald is talking to is also named Victor. He chuckles under his breath.

Oswald ends the call and returns his attention to Zsasz. An evil smirk plastered on his features as he mentions.

“Ivy will be here in fifteen minutes. I’m in the mood to play with the two spies now. I’ve haven't spilled blood in ages! How unfortunate for them I might get sloppy.”

Victor turns and makes for the office door, opening it and waiting for Oswald to exit. The kingpin grabs his cane and follows as Zsasz leads him to an empty space in the lounge. The two traitors are being held captive by Victor’s women; both men are bound and sitting on the floor.

Oswald sighs and addresses Victor.

“Remember that night at Commissioner Loeb’s home? What we did to those guards?”

Victor beams the bound men a hungry expression; a small moan escapes his lips.

“ _Do I ever_.”

Oswald unsheathes his knife from his cane as Zsasz removes a large fixed blade Bowie knife from his leg holster. Zsasz looks towards his girls; Tasha, his team lead, along with Xochitil, a mohawked new addition, grab one of the captives. They drag him back and hold his head up to make him watch the scene about to unfold before them.

Oswald clutches his blade firmly and laughs as he descends onto the screaming man. Victor chuckles as he joins in on the slashing and tearing. He grabs the captive by the hair and punctures the external jugular, his blade is sharp and his motion smooth. The sounds of screams are muffled by the quick flow of arterial blood. The victim gurgles and gasps as Victor continues to slice through his neck. Victor relishes the viscous sounds of muscle as it gives way to his blade. He finally reaches his prize: hard bone.

Victor takes a moment to glance up. He leers at Oswald, watching as the kingpin turns the man’s chest and guts into ribbons. The kingpin’s energy never falters as he repeatedly plunges his small knife into the dying man. Victor returns his attention to removing the head. He laments he didn’t bring his serrated fixed-blade tonight.

Oswald finally relents and nods at Victor as he finishes removing the head. The kingpin quickly wipes his blade on the dead man’s pants. He stands and sheathes the small knife back into his cane and waits for Victor to bring the head over to the horrified spectator.

Victor grabs the severed head and grins as he sticks it neck first onto his upturned knife. He struts over and squats in front of the whimpering man, playfully bobbing the head up and down in front of terrified eyes. Oswald clears his throat and offers.

“You have two choices. You tell me the names of any additional spies and who you are affiliated with or you can remain silent, loyal to the end. _But…_ (sucks his teeth) I must warn you one choice comes with a most horrid death while the other comes with a bullet to the head. Either way you are going to die, but the manner of your death is entirely up to you.”

The captive stammers and he sobs.

“Qu… qui… quick d… death!”

Victor pouts. He then brings two fingers to the skewered head on his knife. He pulls the corners of the slack mouth down, mimicking his own expression. He unceremoniously dumps the head off his blade and onto the sobbing man’s legs, earning a gurgly yelp. In one quick motion he flicks the excess blood off his weapon, quickly holstering back into its sheath. He stands and wields one Sig, Tash and Xochitil move back with the rest of the girls. He snarls through gritted teeth.

“Start singing.”

— 卌 —

 

By the time the night is over both Ivy and Oswald attain the names and affiliates the spies are associated with, as well as discovering additional spies amongst the rest of the guards. Oswald and Zsasz haul one remaining spy back to the mansion for extensive questioning. The small kingpin has a room specially designed for various forms of interrogation, complete with a one way mirror.

After securing the prisoner, Victor instructs his girls to patrol the grounds while he calls in a few of his men to replenish the guards at the lounge.

Oswald enters the interrogation room as he removes his suit jacket. The prisoner’s screams are muted under a ball gag. The small man pays him no mind as he eyes all the torture tools on a nearby table.

Oswald addresses the struggling man as he contemplates which tool to use first.

“Look at me— _so_ _indecisive_! You would think by now I would have a favorite tool. But alas, I do not. Guess that means, you’ll have to endure the long wait as I get my mind straight.”

Penguin giggles as he throws up his hands in mock annoyance. He hears the door open, Victor casually strides in.

Zsasz joins Oswald at the table as he gleefully takes in the assortment of instruments. He nods approvingly as he thinks to himself.

_So many toys to play with. What a treat to watch as Penguin renders someone to bits. It’s been such a long time._

Victor reaches for a small club and presents it to Oswald. He leans in to whisper in his ear.

“No need to mak’em bleed just yet. Should start with a beatin’ to get things started. Follow it up with the tin snips. Remove his itty bitty fleshy bits first: ear lobes, nose, eyelids. Then the large plier cutters for fingers… toes. When you’re ready for real blood…”

Victor inhales shakily then breathes heavily into Oswald’s ear. The small kingpin shudders as goosebumps prickle up and down his body. He catches a whiff of Victor’s breath; effervescent notes of peppermint hang on the warm moist exhalations as it travels to his nose. The assassin has a habit of chewing on Altoids; it’s the only vice that Oswald knows of when it comes to the strange and secretive man. He also feels the warmth of Victor’s body heat; that pale skin of his kept natural and free of artificial scents, the only thing he smells is coppery notes with overlays of weathered leather and gun oil. He turns his head slightly towards Victor and peers up at him.

Victor juts his lower jaw forward and purrs.

“Use the ice pick but prolong the experience. Savor. Each. Droplet. Of blood. Then end it with a large serrated knife either by runnin’ it through the bowels or sawin’ off his head.”

Zsasz pulls back and shrugs.

“Just my suggestion, boss.”

Dark eyes hold steady on Oswald. Victor’s proximity and words sends a flash of heat throughout the small man’s body. Oswald clears his throat and reaches for the offered club. He looks up; they both lock eyes for a few moments. The prisoner’s muffled cries snaps him out of it; he turns and starts the torture.

Two hours later, the man is dispatched in all the vivid detail Victor had suggested. Oswald opted to end the man’s life with running him through the guts. He’s covered from head to toe in blood splatters. Victor watched from the observation room, not wanting to get in the kingpin’s way. He studies Penguin as the small man’s body sways after delivering the death blow. He marvels at how someone so small is capable of such brutality. He rubs his chin.

 _Oswald isn’t powerful but energetic_.

Victor takes out his phone and calls a couple of his girls to clean up the room. He then leads his spent boss out of the room and upstairs towards his study.

Oswald finally snaps out of euphoria and realizes he is in his leather chair by the fireplace in his study. He watches as Victor returns to his side with a glass of brandy. The leather clad hand holds the offering in front of him. Oswald takes the glass in both hands and nods once.

“Feel better, boss?”

Oswald offers another nod as he gulps down the brandy. He inhales a sharp breath and adds.

“I will feel a hundred times better when I’ve rounded up all of the conspirators and deal with them accordingly!”

Zsasz nods as he wanders around the study. He pauses by the fire. He peers over at the small man as he hobbles his way towards the minibar for another drink.

Oswald pauses to strip out of his blood-soaked suit jacket and tie; flinging the soiled garments onto a chair. He grabs a paper napkin and begins cleaning off his hands as best he can. He curses when the blood doesn’t come off easily.

Victor’s gaze remains affixed to Penguin’s lithe form preoccupied in his task. He can feel his blood rush, his whole body throbs a couple of times. There’s a ringing in his ears that silences as the voices in his head begin to whisper.

_Take him… take him…_

Oswald throws the spent napkins in the waste bin and remarks.

“Once I’m done having dinner with my family we’ll go round up everyone who dare go against me. We will paint Gotham red with their blood!”

Zsasz silences his urges as he inhales a slow deep breath. He offers Oswald a large toothy grin; his spine tingles over the promise of more blood to come.

Victor found being a bodyguard for Carmine painfully dull and boring. No one dared to mess with the retired Don. He wouldn’t have gone with Falcone if it were up to him, but he had no choice. He had been summoned and he had to obey. After much deliberation he carefully broached the subject of returning to Gotham to the keen and unbudging man. The matter required a small level of deceit that the assassin found challenging. He never before lied to Carmine, but Penguin needed him and he desperately wanted to be by his side.

_“What are you trying to get at young man?”_

_Carmine sets down his gun along with his bloodied gloves onto the hood of his 64’ Imperial. A troublesome politician lays dead on the cold concrete floor of the large abandoned garage. It was a quick and simple execution; the retired Don insisted on delivering the death blow._

_The old man keeps a hard and scrutinizing gaze on Victor as he awaits an answer._

Zsasz had overheard Sophia Falcone discuss with an unknown entity that Falcone’s capos were being executed by Penguin. Many fled underground awaiting Carmine to come back and take charge. Victor knew that Sophia’s been pleading with her father to allow her into Gotham to do away with Oswald and to reclaim the Falcone criminal empire. Carmine forbade her under threat of excommunication and the very real possibility of death.

Zsasz shuffles on his feet for a moment as he pushes memories of his deceit down.

_Excommunicated. Possibly a deadman._

He clenches his fists and replies.

“Sounds like a fun plan, the quicker the better. We don’t wanna risk them scatterin’ and hidin’.”

Victor slowly makes his way towards Oswald. His hands begin to twitch; his mouth pressed tight as his teeth grind. He rounds the small couch, his gait wrought with pent up energy. His quads flinch, the urge to pounce on the small distracted man growing with each step.

Oswald turns towards Victor as he raises the glass to his lips. His eyes follow the slow methodical advancement of the assassin. The room is dimly lit by the fire in the fireplace; the shadows veil Victor’s face in darkness. There is a pale glimmer of moonlight coming through the windows but it only lends to the eerie atmosphere. His eyes remain glued to Zsasz; his body shivers.

_The way he is moving seems unnatural… predatory. Like an old movie vampire cornering his next meal._

Eyes remain hidden in darkness as an ivory hand reaches up towards Oswald’s face. He flinches as his breathing begins to accelerate. He shudders as two fingers slowly trace down from his temple down to his chin. He feels locked in paralysis by Victor’s presence.

The assassin holds up two fingers covered in thick drying blood in front of Oswald’s face and suggests.

“Uh… You might wanna get cleaned up first.”

Oswald snaps out of it and quickly finishes his drink.

“Of course.”

— 卌 —

 

Zsasz wanders the hallways to check in on his girls and to apprise them of the plans for the night while Oswald heads to his bathroom to clean up. Victor explores the familiar hallways and rooms of the old mansion and then returns to Oswald’s bedroom and lets himself in. He takes in the sumptuous suite adorned in brocade fabrics, rich dark wood floors, and crystal fixtures.

Oswald comes out his bathroom in nothing but a black silk robe, fresh from a shower. He halts in his tracks when he notices Victor leaning by one of the windows. The assassin is cleaning a small blade as he stares out into the night. Oswald clenches his teeth and huffs.

“Victor, you really should know when to enter a room and when to remain outside.”

The assassin turns and regards the small crime lord, his face expressionless.

Oswald shakes his head wondering if Victor heard him at all; he makes his way to one of his leather chairs. He forgotten how often in the past he had to correct Zsasz about social etiquette and appropriateness. The pale gunman never seemed to understand or care when it comes to personal space and privacy. He eyes his uninvited bedroom guest as he snatches a bottle of lotion from a small pedestal table.

Victor watches on as he comments.

“I have eyes on the Gilzean gang. They’re currently holed up in their ratty south side hangout.”

Oswald begins moisturizing as he says.

“Good, after dinner we will eradicate them all.”

Victor nods once as his eyes remained glued to the busy man. His eyes flash with each new patch of pristine skin the small man exposes as he slathers on his overly perfumed lotion.

Oswald looks up as he massages the rich moisturizer onto his shoulders. His heartbeat races when unblinking dark eyes remain despite being caught red handed. A flush rushes to his cheeks, but he does his best to ignore his physical response to Victor’s intrusive gaze. He raises a foot to his ottoman, exposing himself to his upper thigh. He slowly glides his slick hands up and down his exposed leg. He peers up at Zsasz at the same time he hears his bedroom door open. He blinks at the empty space where Victor once stood; his head swivels towards the door. He catches the retreating form of the assassin as the door softly closes behind him.

Oswald sighs in relief.

_I guess nothing changes with him._

Oswald shakes his head and glances at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> This fic is a reimagined story from an old work I had that went by another title, "Feasting Demons". This story is going to take some dark turns that the original fic did not take. I've been wanting to write something deeply disturbing and the old fic had the tale already laid out for me to rehash.
> 
> If you like the disturbing, the dark and the unsettling then stick around! I have chapters to come. I hope to hash out a chapter a week but since this is a complete overhaul of motives and re-spins I hope no more than two weeks between each publish.
> 
> ~FC


	2. Henchman Etiquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor gets reacquainted with Oswald's needs. Detective Gordon remains persistent despite Victor’s threats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok Second Edit of this chapter. 
> 
> Realized some content was accidentally left off. Re publishing for this oversight. 
> 
> All apologies! Hoping to get chapter three out this weekend.

 

— 卌 —

 

Zsasz takes three steps and looks back at the solid wood door; he wills himself to calm down. Oswald’s white skin burns brightly in his mind. His body responds as a deep throbbing ache develops just behind the thick fabric of his trousers and silk boxers. He grins and makes a mental note to go on a hunt later tonight.

_I wonder if Solange replaced her two tricks I collected a few days back?_

The two young waifs lasted maybe an hour when he finally got his hands on them. Their spent and mangled bodies lifeless on the cold ground of his _kill room._  Clothes, along with a few body parts, strewn about the floor, where Victor slept soundly much like a beast after gorging on a kill.

Victor quickly turns and makes his way downstairs. He stiffens at the sudden drop in temperature; the incessant cadence of mechanisms echo softly as the sound gets closer. A blue glow travels undeterred down an opposite hallway and immediately filling the grand foyer with it’s cold presence. Victor Fries leisurely ambles through as he heads towards the dining room hall. Two of Zsasz’s women make a hole for him to pass through. They beam each other large smiles then both turn to eye Freeze’s posterior.

Victor follows the large frozen man; his eyes remaining affixed to Fries’s large back and broad shoulders. The assassin arounds the dining table, his eyes watching as the large iceman plops into a chair. Freeze quirks an eyebrow at him.

Zsasz stations himself by Oswald’s chair; the corners of his mouth pulling down as his gaze devours the silent blue-illuminated stunner.

_Fucker has a presence. I can see why Oswald keeps it so… close._

Victor’s eyes narrow as a smirk plays at his lips.

_I wonder what color it bleeds._

Freeze flashes a scowl at the assassin. His handsome features crinkled and pinched as he barks.

“What!?”

Zsasz ignores him. He tilts his head down; his gaze remains unblinking. He sucks his teeth as he nods absently; his eyes narrowing. He begins assessing his own stringent criteria for _collecting_ certain prey. In the past he’s come across many beautiful specimens, but only a quarter of those men ever make the list. His urges can only be quelled with prey that check off all boxes.

_Too tall... too muscular. Not even sure if I can touch it’s skin without it freezin’ me. Shame. I would relish tanglin’ my fingers in those stark white locks._

He can see the _freak_ now; chained to the floor of his kill room, out of it’s suit and suffering. Victor sneers as he imagines turning the heat up just to see it writhe around in agony.

_Then..._

Fries continues to eye the silent man. He frowns as he reaches down to his freeze-ray and flicks a switch, priming the weapon. He deepens his scowl.

“Stop staring at me!”

Fries rests his hand on the butt of his weapon.

Zsasz raises an eyebrow at the metallic sound and grins at the challenge. His eyes wide, fingers twitching to grab his Sigs from their holsters. He’s about to antagonize the freak further, but he recollects Carmine’s chastising advice.

 _“Don’t shit where you eat boy. Hunt outside of the criminal family; keep that_ **_thing_ ** _within you_ **_hidden_** _. You forget how unsettling your presence can be.”_

Victor relents and blinks in appeasement. He shrugs as he digs for his phone in a coat pocket. He preoccupies himself with texting his girls and the guards for patrolling statuses while he awaits Oswald. He hears Freeze power down his weapon.

 

— 卌 —

 

“What do you mean? Are you benching us?”

Bridgit huffs angrily. It was bad enough that she rarely gets out to have fun, now someone else is replacing her and Freeze from wreaking havoc.

Freeze shrugs and replies in his typical monotone air.

“This will give me time to focus on the short cure. I’m close to a stable formula.”

Bridgit growls at Victor’s resignation.

“Of course, _you_ don’t care. All you do is hole up in that meat locker of yours!”

Fries turns his icy, expressionless face towards Firefly and states matter-of-factly.

“Being ‘holed up’ in my laboratory just means I have time to keep working on my latest findings which enable me to _get out_ of my ‘meat locker’.”

Bridgit rolls her eyes and addresses Oswald again.

“Well, if that weirdo behind you is handling opposition what are we to do?”

Bridgit gestures between her and Fries not bothering to include Ivy since she never goes on kill calls.

Zsasz raises an eyebrow at the fire girl as a large grin begins to form. He tunes out the petty banter between the four; taking the opportunity to examine each person at the table. His gaze first drifts to Mr. Freeze.

_Nothing seems to provoke it. This “Freeze” sits at the table like it’s gonna eat but there’s only empty plates in front of it. Does it feel hunger?_

His gaze then locks onto the animated arsonist that goes by the name Firefly. Her arms crossed as her head swivels to and fro; her sharp words fling at an unblinking Fries.

_Her temper every bit like the fire she controls. I wonder if I were to slice her open would her blood burn me?_

Zsasz’s gaze settles on Ivy; the tall redhead sitting in silence as she stuffs her mouth with food. Her attention on her plate but her head shakes or nods with Firefly’s words.

 _So unassuming._ **_So beautiful_ ** _. Yet between the three, I find her skills the most dangerous._

Victor’s assessment is cut short when he hears the slam of a fist on the table. Oswald is pointing a finger at Bridgit. Victor delights when the small kingpin lays into people.

Oswald hisses through clenched teeth.

“Do you want to keep busy? Then make those bombs I’ve compensated you for! Be more like your counterpart Victor Fries: focus, build and create!”

Oswald drinks down his glass of water and takes a deep breath in. He keeps his steely gaze on the perturbed Firefly. He then adds a bit less harshly.

“Things will slow to a crawl for the both of you when it comes to enforcement, but right now at this stage of our operations I’ve need of a hammer and chisel— _not_ _a_ _wrecking_ _ball!_ Here shortly I, along Zsasz and his team, will be out handling the trash that’s left. So, be on call in case I need you both.”

— 卌 —

 

After a successful night of dealing with what is left of the conspirators. Oswald and Victor head back to the mansion as dawn breaks. Victor walks Oswald upstairs; his boss gives him further instructions on his daily schedule and areas that require his attention. Once they reach the master bedroom the small kingpin halts before stepping past the threshold.

“It’s good to have you back. I… uh…”

Oswald stiffens and inhales a sharp breath. He wants to confess to Victor that he missed him dearly. Their long history together was something he took for granted till tonight.

_Zsasz knows me on a level that no one else, except Edward, can say._

The night they spent hunting down the last of the Gilzean gang made Oswald nostalgic for the old days. The kingpin found himself appreciating Victor's instincts. His enforcer knew when to dispatch and when to hold back, anticipating Oswald's need for speeches and grandstanding.

_It's all probably one-sided. Victor's loyalties shift with who ever is in power and can pay him the most._

Oswald shakes his head and quickly states.

“Goodnight, Victor.”

Zsasz’s dark gaze follows the retreating form of the smaller man. The words are unexpected and out of character of the scathing kingpin. Without a second thought, he blurts out.

“Carmine isn’t someone I can disobey; _I’m his._ There’ll be… **consequences**.”

Victor blinks as his facial muscles retract; his gaze temporarily falls to the side, away from the small man.

Oswald turns on his heels and casts a disbelieving gaze at his stiff enforcer; the look on Victor’s face hard to read. He is unsure if that was meant as a threat or just Victor stating in his infuriatingly simple way of troubles yet to come. Oswald lifts his chin and sneers.

“I’m not worried in the least.”

Zsasz snaps his attention back as he raises an eyebrow. The assassin found none in his life that can instill apprehension in him the way Carmine can. Oswald's bravado in the face of pending retaliation is flippant and foolhardy. He reinerates.

“He’ll come. When he does,  _I’ll handle it._ Night, boss.”

Victor strides away without another word. Oswald blinks at the statement; the words seem to hang in the air. A foreboding creeps up his spine, never has Victor been so forth coming when it comes to Carmine Falcone.

_Wait. Did he come back to Gotham without Carmine’s blessing?_

Oswald closes the door as the implication of Zsasz’s confession settles deep in his thoughts.

— 卌 —

 

Noon that day:

Zsasz strides into the mansion and up the stairs; he lets himself into Oswald’s bedroom. He approaches the bed, spying a mess of raven locks peeking from under the thick bedspread and nest of pillows. He flicks his wrist up and checks the time. Oswald has a meeting at two with east side affiliates and he knows the small crime lord takes every bit of an hour or so to primp. He peers down at the lump under the thick blankets and feather-filled pillows; Penguin is snoring softly inside his cocoon.

Victor reaches out and slowly peels the thick blankets back; his eyes wide as a toothy smile grows. Oswald’s small form is supine; the back of his right hand over his mouth. The fingers of his left hand clutching deep in his mop of hair.

Long lashes dust freckled cheeks as his eyes roll and scan behind closed lids. Victor’s prowling gaze travels down as he continues to lift the blankets. Oswald’s clad in nothing but a dark blue silk robe that’s open and tangled around him; his entire body lays exposed

Victor’s smile fades as his mouth hangs open; lower teeth flashing. His head tilts as his eyes travel down the exposed milky white skin contrasting bright against the jewel-toned robe. He closes his eyes and inhales a long breath; he catches the whiff of white musk and tea tree oil. The powerful scent plumes upward into his nose.

He opens his eyes; he can feel the dark hunger rise again. Exhausted from last night’s raid on opposing rivals, he never went out on a hunt. He rolls his shoulders back and pops his neck as the ringing in his ears begins sounding off; deviant thoughts begin to pervade his mind. He’s losing his will to step away, the hungry beast within longs for a taste. He shudders and shakes his head.

 **_No_.** _Not now._

Victor let’s out a small whimper; surprising himself with the spontaneous physical response. His eyes continue to travel; his gaze alights upon Oswald’s cock. The small pale phallus lies wrinkled upon a set of normal sized testicles. Zsasz bites his lower lip as he assess what he sees.

_No hair. Clean. So modest in size. Such a petite and beautiful specimen, as I always imagined._

Victor then notices a small towel wadded and resting beside the slumbering figure. He raises an eyebrow as a smile leaps back onto his lips.

_Have you been touching yourself? I wonder what you pleasure yourself to._

He plucks it from beside the sleeping man; unfurling it before his eyes. A corner remains crisp and wrinkled; a spent load captured within. Victor unable to help himself, brings it to his nose and mouth. He inhales deeply as his tongue comes out to lap at the dried salty remnants. The flavor subtle as it caresses his taste buds. He then registers the salt sharply on the sides of his tongue. He salivates, rolling the copious spit around his mouth before swallowing.

Victor feels a deep low swelling, his hips jerk into a thrusting action. A soft moan escapes into the towel as he urgently licks and inhales deeply of Oswald’s essence. He whispers into the towel.

“I want to drink you down. Watch the ecstacy bloom on your face then… _horror._ ”

Sounds of the small king stirring snaps him out of his whispered narration. He quickly pockets the small hand towel and releases the blankets. He eyes the sighing, shifting sleeper. He pauses a moment then administers one hard poke to Oswald’s chest.

Oswald startles awake at the discomfort of a sharp pain. His eyes pop open; he clutches at the blankets. His vision quickly adjusting from sleep as he peers up at the looming man beside his bed. His temper ignites when he sees Zsasz in another breach of boss/henchman etiquette.

_“Zsasz! What the fu…”_

Victor interrupts as he states.

“It’s noon, boss. You have a meetin’ at two. Might wanna get ready.”

Victor beams the man a large smile. Oswald presses his lips tightly together before barking in aggravation.

“You could have just knocked on the door! _Get the hell out!_ ”

Victor threads his thumbs through his shoulder holster and responds.

“You sleep hard, boss.”

Oswald watches as Victor saunters out of the bedroom. He plops back on the bed and sighs.

 

— 卌 —

 

After an hour Oswald makes his way downstairs and towards the kitchen for a fast lunch before heading to his meeting. He hears Olga gruff followed by the sound of a loud smack.

“I said no! You sneak two pieces. I see!”

Oswald can hear Zsasz reply as he shuffles into the brightly lit kitchen area.

“Aw, com’on, Olga. I’m starvin’.”

The perturbed housekeeper aims her wooden spoon at the beaming man.

Oswald grumbles as he seats himself at the kitchen island.

“Annoying Olga isn’t in the job description. I will just eat in here. I have places to be in an hour.”

Zsasz sips at his cup of coffee as he eyes the finely dressed, groggy man. The small man accepts his morning tea from Olga and waits for his food to get served.

“Afternoon, boss.”

“A _busy_ afternoon. I have a million things to do today at the lounge and I have yet to select the staff. Interviewees will be filtering in around three. Olga, have the others headed over already?”

Olga sets a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables in front of Oswald as she replies.

“Yes, two hours ago. Ms. Ivy say she take the invitations and mail. She say she spray with her perfume.”

Olga places eating utensils and a rich embroidered napkin beside the plate. She turns and exits the kitchen to begin cleaning, leaving the two men alone.

Victor watches Oswald over his coffee cup; the small man is devouring his meat with his bare hands. His mind goes back to earlier upstairs in the bedroom and the rare sight of the small man's semi-nude form lying deep in sleep.

Victor acutely feels the deep swelling return as images of Penguin yielding underneath him flood his mind; the vision then takes a cannibalistic turn. He envisions himself eating at Oswald’s arm the way the small man is devouring his chicken leg. Twang of sinews as they rip away between his teeth as sweet ripe flesh pull apart from bone. Pure unadulterated bliss. He revels in the crimson spray of blood as the warmth drips and coats his chin, neck and chest. The heavy scent of copper looms in the air, saturating the entire room. He envisions savoring each bite as his engorged cock continues its rhythmic penetration of the struggling body enveloping it.

Victor blinks and looks away. He sets his coffee down and gets his mind back on business.

“I have my team scoutin’ the streets for any remainin’ goons we missed. I also have a few men comin’ to the lounge to fill the vacancies. They’ll be in charge of lounge security for now on.”

Oswald wipes his mouth and hands; nodding.

“Excellent, one less thing for me to worry about.”

Zsasz rounds the kitchen island as he adds.

“I’ll have the car pulled ‘round front.”

Oswald continues to eat while mentally going over everything he has yet to do that day.

His phone rings.

He retrieves it from his pants pocket and sees the caller ID flashing ‘Jim’; the device continues to sound off noisily in his hand. His face hardens; he has been ignoring all of Detective Gordon’s calls since that fateful day at the docks. Being offered up as a sacrifice to The Riddler and killing Fish Mooney were the two things that Oswald can not forgive Jim, despite the detective’s Tetch Virus affliction. There was nothing that Jim could say or offer that will motivate Oswald into lifting his silence. He would soon as shoot Jim point blank in that handsome face of his than utter one word to him. The persistent detective was one of those bitter pills from his past he was sick of swallowing.

 

— 卌 —

 

As the car begins to drive off the Van Dahl estate; Zsasz concludes a phone call.

“Boss, the GCPD are lookin’ for The Riddler. The mayor demands he be found. They suspect you have him prisoner but no real leads.”

Oswald stares out the window. The news comes across like a scab being ripped open; the wound threatening to bleed and sting anew.

"They would thaw him out and place him in Arkham where... (laughs frustratingly)...  with just an ounce of intelligence one could escape that _mockery_ of a mental health facility! No. I can not allow this!"

Oswald feels his phone vibrate inside his jacket pocket. He retrieves it and sees that it’s Jim again. The small man squeezes the small device tightly in his clutches; his temper quickly building.

Victor patiently waits, knowing to not press the volatile man any further. He glances at the exposed screen on the phone as it rings again. He narrows his eyes.

_Jim._

Oswald doesn’t bother looking at his phone as it rings a couple more time before going silent. Zsasz raises an eyebrow as he digs into his own pocket. He dials out to the operator.

“Hello, can you please connect me to GCPD? Thank you.”

Oswald whips his head, glaring at Victor. His enforcer doesn’t return the glance but leans back into his seat.

“Hello, may I speak to Detective Gordon?

A pause as Victor waits. Oswald watches on, infuriated that Victor would talk to Gordon without his approval.

Jim rushes to the phone. He was on his way to discuss with Harvey his failed attempts at contacting Oswald.

“This is Detective Gordon.”

Zsasz smiles as he cherrily drawls.

“Jim! Long time no chat! It’s me, Zsasz.”

Jim raises an eyebrow as he spies Harvey exiting his office and head his way. He warily exhales unsure what boss the assassin now serves. He hopes beyond hope Victor didn’t return to Penguin. Jim scoffs and banters back.

“Victor, it has been a long time… _hasn’t it_? How’s the eye?”

Zsasz sucks his teeth as memory of getting knocked-out over his smart ass remark, _“kiss the bride for me”,_ comes back to him.

“How nice of you to ask. Wakin’ on the couch was a lot more comfortable than the floor of that shitty kitchen.”

He hears Jim chuckle, he smiles despite himself.

“I need to learn to put my dukes up ‘round you; such a scrappy fighter. Unfortunately this isn’t a social call. I need for you to cool it with the phone calls. My boss is busy and doesn’t have time to be at your beck and call.”

Jim flashes Harvey a pained expression as Zsasz confirms his reunion with Oswald. He replies dryly.

“Well if he doesn't have time to talk to me on the phone perhaps I’ll head over to that club of his and wait for him there.”

Victor chuckles as he inhales a long breath.

“Oh that would be highly ill-advised. We have new security, lots a _hotheads_ and _trigger-happy_ yahoos. Hate for you to be met with lead.”

Jim laughs as he replies.

“You need better trained guards then. I guess all that time spent down south with Carmine has made you just as _soft_ and _complacent_ as the old man.”

Victor bites his lower lip at Jim’s obvious taunt. He purrs seductively into his phone.

“Maybe. (moans softly) Oh, Jim. Why don’t’chya come find out for yourself how _hard_ and _attentive_ I can **get**.”

Jim swallows as he turns away from Harvey.

“I could just come down there with a team and a search warrant.”

Zsasz smiles as he replies.

“You could try. See yea, _Jimbo._ ”

Oswald’s gaze remains affixed to Victor as he pockets his phone. He didn’t know what to make of the odd conversation; Oswald swallows and adjusts his jacket. He eyes Zsasz as his enforcer turns to address him.

“Jim plans on gettin’ a search warrant.”

The small kingpin slumps back into his seat as he drags a small briefcase sitting beside him, onto his lap.

“I need you to send a message to the mayor. One thing this city seems to never be in short supply of are filthy, crooked politicians. I should know!”

Oswald produces a thick envelope with evidence of the mayor’s dirty secrets. Zsasz looks inside and whistles as he pulls out a photo of the mayor and his sister-in-law in a passionate embrace in front of a motel.

“I think this picture alone will be enough. Self proclaimed family man and leader of the Gotham Society for Decency and Morals in a torrid affair with his wife’s sister. But goin’ full blast on him should keep him from ever utterin’ — The Riddler.”

Victor places the picture back into the envelope. He peers over at Oswald who’s sporting a devious grin.

_Oswald and his blackmail, deploying it whenever possible._

Zsasz face hardens as the corners of his mouth pull down. He turns away to look out the passenger side window. He finds it irksome how quickly the kingpin reveals his hand to his opponents. Penguin using what leverage he has over the mayor just so he can keep his iced-Nygma safely nestled his freezer.

 **_A huge waste_** _. Edward is a liability. The safety of Penguin’s empire could be all undone if his prized ice cube is ever discovered and used against him._

Zsasz is never one to shy away from speaking his mind, but the matter of Oswald’s old boyfriend is a topic the assassin would rather just avoid.

“Once the meetin’ is concluded and I delivered you to the lounge I’ll head over to the mayor’s office. I wanna to make sure Jim’s sails are deflated as soon as possible. Don’t talk to the detective; let me handle it. They have nothin' and he knows he can provoke you.”

Victor glances over at Oswald who has his head resting back on his seat. His gaze locks onto piercing green eyes as thick, long, lashes flutter; he scoots in a bit closer. He tilts his head as his dark gaze roams the small man beside him.

Oswald feels the flush of heat to his cheeks; he’s sure he’s blushing. Hearing Victor on the phone with Gordon stirred something within him, much like last night's masturbatory release which starred Victor. The action of touching himself has always been mechanical, a means to relax. Never has he ever thought of anyone when he handles his _business_. He inhales a soft breath through his mouth earning Victor’s gaze back to his own.

Since the day he first met Victor, the strange man’s intrusive stare has since become common placed. He remembers in the early days how it troubled and infuriated him to no end. He licks his lips; Victor’s dark eyes lock onto his mouth. Oswald whispers under his breath.

“I would soon as rip out my own tongue than speak with him.”

Victor leans in just a hair, his eyes still focused on Oswald’s mouth. He huskily replies.

“Now that would be a shame.”

Oswald shifts on his seat; his eyes travel down to Victor’s lips that seem to be approaching closer with each second. His breathing hitches as a small gasp raggedly escapes his mouth.

Victor inhales Oswald’s warm breath; he watches on, fascinated by the reddening of the small man face. Victor’s lips pucker ever so slightly.

_His small breathless gasp._

_Heavily lidded eyes._

_Parted lips._

Victor leans in ever so slowly.

 _I’ve denied myself for such a_ **_long_ ** _time. Just a small kiss..._

The memory of tasting Oswald on the towel (still folded in his pocket) possesses him. He then remembers all of his knives secretly strapped to various places on his body. Zsasz grits his teeth; knowing that if he loses control he would eagerly claim the man far too quickly for his liking.

Oswald waits, unsure of the moment the two of them are sharing. He just knows that he can feel Victor’s heat; the boyish face mere inches away. His body burns to be touched. He wonders what it would feel like to surrender completely to a lover. He admits to himself Zsasz is a very alluring man.

_He radiates power and virility. Would it be so bad to experience carnal pleasure just once?_

From his peripherals he sees Victor's gloved hand begin to reach up as he slowly closes the gap between them. Just as Oswald is about to give in, a memory Edward’s loving gaze invades the moment. Oswald inhales a quick breath and sits up, he turns his head to look out the passenger window.

_Just when I think I can move on. Edward steps in. What was I thinking? Victor's hired help. Snap out of it, moron!_

He can see in the reflection of the window, Victor's tilting head and narrowing gaze; the gunman quickly scoots away and leans back in his own seat. The remaining ride to the meeting steeped in awkward silence.

 

— 卌 —

 

After the meeting Oswald sits in the lobby of his lounge. The day swiftly turns to early evening as he sifts through all the wait staff applicants. He had specific requirements of the men: tall, dark-haired and lean. Most looked like Edward in some way or another; he wants to the entire wait staff to be manned by Ed look-alikes. He wants to see _him_ even if it is only someone that bears a passing resemblance. He’s sure Ivy will think he is still suffering but he doesn’t care. He has to have Ed in his life in some way.

Victor strides in.

“All done, boss. I don’t think the mayor will be a problem any longer. I made him call the commissioner and get Jim and all his minions to back off. Either they comply or face suspension.”

Oswald giggles as he partakes of a much needed glass of wine.

“Excellent, I knew… “

His reply is cut short with the buzzing of his phone on his desk. He guffaws and shows Victor.

Zsasz inhales a deep breath and smiles.

“May, I?”

Oswald offers his phone as he continues to sip his wine returning his attention to the stacked paperwork on the small desk.

Jim’s eyes widen when Oswald’s phone is finally answered. His tone urgent as he growls into his phone.

“Oswald, finally. Just because… “

“Jim… Jim… Jim. How many times do I needa tell you to stop callin’?”

Jim laughs as a knot of frustration settles deep in the core of him.

“Zsasz, let me speak to Oswald.”

Victor loses his smile and growls into the phone.

“ _I think not._ See, I know for a fact you were ordered to stand down. So do yourself a favor and forget ‘bout Penguin. I’m sure this big wild city ha… ”

Victor looks at the phone and closes it, lips pressed tight. He sets it back on the desk.

“He hung up on me.  ** _Rude_**. I’ll have one of my girls keep an eye on him.”

Oswald pours himself another glass as he comments.

“One thing I know about Jim is that he is tenacious. My lounge opens in less than a couple of weeks and I don’t need him harassing me out of spite.”

Zsasz shrugs.

“You have me. I’ll deal with him.”

The small kingpin gawks at Victor for a moment, but quickly nods. The morning ride pops into his head and what almost transpired still too uncomfortable to think about. Oswald clears his throat as he retrieves his glass of wine. He glances at Victor; his enforcer is watching him intently.

Oswald begins making his way towards the main floor where a staircase to his office lies; Zsasz promptly following close behind.

Fries is standing by the stairs, waiting to speak with Oswald.

“Hey. I’m gonna open the floor hatch to work on some tubing to route the cooling systems. I need to turn off the heat and flood this area with coolant; I have to work out of my suit. It should take a few days to complete. Keep your office as warm as you can or avoid coming to the lounge till then.”

The center of the lounge has a large floor hatch that stores all the cooling units and mechanisms for Fries’s laboratories and for the ice feature that is going to be the centerpiece to the lounge aesthetics. Just below that is Victor’s sublevel domain.

“Very well. I will remain for tonight only. I need to get payroll and other tedious paperwork completed.”

Once in his office, Oswald makes for his minibar; a large fire is already blazing in the stony large fireplace. Victor approaches a wall of windows to take in the panoramic view of Gotham city in the growing dusk. Various skyscrapers gleam with the setting sun while others shine with neon brilliance in the shadows of the architectural giants.

He turns to look at Oswald who has removed his jacket; the busy man is shuffling through contract paperwork and payroll sheets. His phone vibrates with an call from his lead girl, Tash.

“The mark is leaving work in a black sedan. I’m following him now. He is taking the highway, possibly heading southeast towards the lounge.”

“Okay. Keep me in the _know_ with texts from here on out. If he comes close I’ll deal with him directly.”

Victor smiles at the prospect of talking to Jim again. The lawman, though a rival, has earned his deepest respect. The tightly-wound detective bested him in combat several times; no adversary alive can boast such a claim.

_Not to mention how unbelievably **hot** he is. Such a shame he meets none of my requirements; I would love to hunt him. He would be the only prey that could definitely give me a run for my money. The bliss would last for **months**. _

Victor strokes a finger against his chin waiting for **that** tingle; a physical cue that the beast within him will accept the offering.

_GCPD's Golden Boy...._

_... **nothing.** _

After twenty minutes Tash sends a text.

 

_Mark within two blocks of the lounge._

 

Victor makes his way out of the lounge awaiting Tash’s next text. Five minutes later:

 

_Mark on foot_

_Parked near Saigon restaurant._

_All in black and taking alleyways_

_running parallel with lounge_

_Nearing bodega_

 

Victor runs towards the alley leading down the block towards the only bodega. He calls the girls to cut him off as soon as Jim is in the last alley. Victor draws both of his Sigs as he nears. He sees Jim’s familiar silhouette; his girls round the corner with their weapons drawn. Victor flashes his teeth as they corner the man.

Jim halts as he assesses the situation. He opts to keep his weapons holstered. His face hardens when Victor and his women draw near.

Victor smirks. “Tsk… tsk. Jim, this is ‘bout as close as you’re gonna to get. This is my third. And. _Final_. Warnin’. Oswald doesn’t have time for whatever trivial issues the GCPD has with him.”

Jim counters in his typical stiff authoritative tone. “I hardly think hiding The Riddler is a trivial matter.”

Zsasz gives Jim an incredulous look as an eyebrow raises. He retorts. “Didn’t you get the memo? The mayor changed his mind. So scram.”

Jim licks his lips and chuckles. “Yeah, I got the memo. Doesn’t mean shit to me.”

Victor narrows his eyes at the bullheaded man, a lopsided grin develops. “Seems we reached an impasse, detective. But seein’ as though I have more guns. I think you should admit defeat and walk away— _while you can_.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.”

Victor snarls through gritted teeth. “Contact him again and he’ll have the mayor and commissioner bust you down to meter maid. In case you haven’t noticed, _Jim_ , he has a pretty big pull over city officials. Tread with care. Now. Get. Lost.”

Victor gestures with one of his guns down the alley. Jim smirks at Victor before turning and walking away. Tash, along with a couple of women, follow Jim down the alley to ensure his departure.

Victor watches as the detective swaggers out of view, appreciating the man’s lean and compact form.

“Very tenacious.”

_This is already the most fun I’ve had in a long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love diving into Victor's dark compulsions and imagery. Even though he is gruesome when on the job, he keeps that other part of him hidden and separate from who he is professionally.


	3. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fries suspects Oswald’s pale enforcer to have ulterior motives when it comes to the small kingpin. Zsasz receives a dreaded phone call.

 

— 卌 —

 

Zsasz follows the girls as they escort Jim back to his car. He takes a moment to admire the way the man is dressed and the cocky way he swaggers.

_Even when he’s in street clothes he’s still stiff— **all** **business**. I would love to see him unraveled. _

The detective halts and looks back at Victor; a small smirk plays on the corners of Jim’s mouth. The look lingers as the off-duty detective slides into his car.

Zsasz can’t help but grin, his chin held high as his eyes drink in his brazen rival. He holsters his Sigs and watches on as Jim’s sedan exits Saigon’s parking lot. A rogue thought pops into his head as he watches the tail lights grow smaller into the distance.

_I should just let him have that human ice cube._

Victor catches a whiff of rich aromas that derail his thoughts: sauteed garlic, meats and spices. The smells coming from the Chinese restaurant grab his attention; his stomach growls.

Tash along with Xochilt and Demaris, approach him. Ursula’s Yamaha can be heard pealing out of a parking lot not far away, to keep tail on Gordon. He looks at the time and shrugs his shoulders.

“I could go for Mapo Tofu and some Oolong tea. Ladies, let’s take a break.”

His three girls smile and follow him as he makes a brisk heading towards Saigon’s illuminated entrance.

 

— O —

 

Oswald closes his payroll books and shuffles signed contracts into a tray. He reclines back into his chair and contemplates returning to the mansion for the night. He can hear Fries downstairs working on the coolant systems as he blares his ungodly racket he calls _music_. He feels the chill seep from under the double doors of his office; the floor just past it icy and slick as the cranked heat battles dipping temperatures.

_I best leave before my office is ruined by the heat and chill. But I want to visit Edward, it's been a couple of days since I’ve talked to him. Ever since Victor…_

The awkward moment in the car pops into his head again. He is sure that Zsasz meant to kiss him but then again the assassin’s history of personal bubble breaking and leering never pan out to be anything more than Victor’s brand of awkwardness.

Oswald retrieves his winter gear he keeps in the office for when he decides to trek below into Fries’s laboratory. He braces himself when he opens the door; the blast of chill almost too much to bear. The top landing is slick; Oswald slips and quickly hugs the railing. He takes a deep breath, the air bites at his sinuses and airway. He looks down and carefully makes his way to the first step, white-knuckling the support.

Fries removes his goggles and sets some tubing down he’s working on. That’s when he notices Oswald as he attempts to descend the stairs. He turns his music off and quickly scales the winding staircase with ease. He stands before the flustered man, beaming him a large smile.

Oswald gawks at Freeze as he flawlessly bounds up towards him; the man is yet again _half-naked_. A flush rushes to his cheeks after his eyes do a quick sweep of the man’s well-defined broad chest.

“Hey, would you like some help?”

Despite Oswald’s helpless predicament he can’t help but snark back out of embarrassment.

“No, Victor. I think I rather stand here attached to this icy railing like a chilled gargoyle!”

Fries raises a white eyebrow and shakes his head; his smile never faltering. He comes in and wraps an arm around Oswald’s waist as he grasps the thick coat into a fist. He lifts the small man, giving Oswald no purchase on the stairs. Fries makes a surefooted heading to the last step and sets the blushing man down.

Oswald finds himself whisked down the stairs before he can protest the action. When he feels his feet touch the ground he comes back to himself.

Fries’s amusement evident as the monotone cadence to his voice lifts ever so slightly.

“Might wanna stay down here or head back home. I don’t think you should go back up there.”

Oswald nods still unable to register what happened, but he then realizes his briefcase and phone are still in the office.

“My belongings are still up there. I didn’t quite think this through. I wanted to visit Edward before I left.”

Fries shrugs and makes his way back up. Oswald calls out as he reaches up a right hand at the retreating form.

“My belongings are on the desk! Uh… Victor, it’s very warm in there perhaps you should put your suit on…”

Fries disappears through the double doors. Oswald mouth closes as he swallows; his eyes large with disbelief at Fries’ bravery against the heated room.

A couple of minutes later Fries reappears with Oswald’s cane, briefcase, and phone in his clutches. He takes a moment to shake off the ill-effects of the heat before he makes a slow descent from the top landing. Oswald watches on, worried Victor has hurt himself.

Fries makes it down and hands Oswald his belongings. The effects of the heat still evident as the man sways then leans over and clamps both hands to his knees; his breathing labored.

Oswald’s temper flares at Fries’ stupidity but mostly from his own startling concern over the large man.

“I wish you hadn’t done that! You are of no use to me if you are laid low!”

Fries chuckles as he straights himself.

“Geez, Oswald it’s like the surface of the sun in that room. I killed the heat; that’s why it took me a bit longer to get out. I didn’t want your wooden floors ruined with condensation.”

Oswald presses his lips together as a pang of guilt settles over him. He nods and offers softly.

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Fries strides over to what he was working on as he mentions.

“I’ll be here another couple of hours or so then I’ll head back to the mansion. Where’s your weird bodyguard at?”

“He’ll be back shortly. Please let him know I will be below.”

“Okay.”

Fries turns his music back on, the tempo of fast drums and synthesized chords grate on Oswald’s ears and nerves; he presses his lips together and scowls.

He quickly makes his way below to a viewing room that looks into Fries’ laboratory. Within the small room, Oswald keeps a small wine fridge, a chaise lounge chair and a small table displaying a couple of drinking glasses and a book. He grabs a bottle of red wine and removes the cork with a corkscrew stowed on top of the fridge. He pours himself a generous portion and sets the bottle and the full glass on the table. He glances over his shoulder at Edward as he removes his winter gear. The small room is warm enough to where he’s comfortable in normal layering of clothes.

Oswald wanders to the viewing window where an intercom system is installed. He presses a button that allows his voice to be heard in the laboratory.

“Hello, Edward. It’s been a couple of days since I last saw you. I do apologize. I can only imagine how lonely you must feel trapped in that icy prison with no one to visit you. Well, I’m here now. I'm sure you would love to know what happened to Swan after she and Josh escaped the store basement. I'm just as eager.”

Oswald giggles and plops on his long chair; he reaches over and retrieves the book; he promptly opens the thick paperback to the marked page. He knows Edward despises works of fiction. He remembers how Ed’s library teemed with books on military strategy, poetry, and endless tomes of medical and scientific subject matter. He glances up at Edward and inhales a deep breath.

“I bet you are starting to appreciate fiction now. I imagine a big mind such as yours would find relief with anything that can keep it stimulated.”

Oswald thumbs the bookmark as he stares down at the page. His mind deep in thought.

_Not much stimulation on my end either. Ed is bound in ice and I am bound to him. I’m in my own tomb of solitude._

A memory of Zsasz’s large eyes and smooth skin interrupts his wallowing. Oswald shakes his head as he grits his teeth.

_That car ride is still messing with my head. Maybe if I talk to Edward about moving on perhaps it will release me._

“Edward, you and I need to have a talk.”

 

— 卌 —

 

Zsasz returns to the lounge after he and his team filled up on food. His women head out to relieve Ursula’s shift tailing Gordon as well as the night guards at the mansion.

Victor makes his way through the lobby and to the main floor. The chill of the area starts biting at his exposed head along with his legs that are barely shielded by thin pants material.

Zsasz saunters up to the working man, who is welding tubing together. The riot of music and the glare of the welding torch make Fries oblivious to his presence.

He studies Freeze hard at work. The freak is bare chested, his lower half clad in some kind of linen pants, his hands and forearms protected with welder’s gloves, and donning a welder’s face shield.

Zsasz shakes his head at the ridiculous get-up. His eyes then take in the taut rippling muscles of Fries’ arms, shoulders and back. He smiles as his gaze settles to the stark white hair protruding from under the strap of his head gear.

He reaches out and softly strums his gloved fingers on one pointy lock. Fries doesn’t notice; Victor repeats the action. The riotous intro to the next song makes him wince; he scowls as he looks for the source of the nuisance. He spies the set up not far away. He jaunts over and picks up the small iPod encased in a thermal pouch that’s connected to two speakers. He opens the pouch as his gaze remains on the busy freak; he hits the pause button. A large toothy grin begins to etch across his smooth face; the abrupt silence announces his presence.

Zsasz waits gleefully as the large hunk sets down his torch and whips off his face shield. Freeze turns his head; those silvery eyes seem to glow as they focus on him.

Freeze quickly stands from his abandoned task and strides over. His face hardens at Zsasz’s impish smile.

“Don’t ever touch my music again.”

Zsasz raises an eyebrow and nods incredulously at the iPod still in his hand.

“This is music to you?”

Zsasz squints at the title on the display then back at Freeze.

“Seriously? Nine Inch Nails? How _old_ are you?”

Freeze grabs his device from Zsasz and returns it to the pouch.

“Oswald is below waiting for you. Leave me in peace to work.”

Zsasz pouts and tilts his head as his right hand goes to his chest.

“That’s not nice. Us _Victors_ should be friends.”

Fries turns his back on Zsasz to resume his work.

“Not interested. Fuck off.”

Zsasz frowns as he strides away. He heads below to the viewing room. He opens the door to find Oswald humming on the lounge chair, drunk. His suit jacket is off, his tie loose. An empty bottle lays on its side at the foot of the chair; the small man clutches another to his chest by the neck.

Oswald hears the soft click of the door as it closes. His hazy vision takes in his enforcer as he draws near. He smiles at the man as his thoughts muddle on kissing him once and for all.

_In front of Edward no less. Let him witness._

Victor’s eyes the languid form on the lounge. There’s a bright flush of red on Oswald’s cheeks. Thick lashes flutter as clouded green eyes watch him approach. Victor assess the scene before him, he turns his head to view The Riddler popsicle staring from behind the thick glass. He returns his attention to his boss; who is smiling broadly at him in a drunken haze.

“Did I interrupt somethin’?”

Zsasz motions with his head towards Nygma.

Oswald slowly shakes his head.

“I’m just unwinding from all the tedious work before heading back home. The stress of opening an upscale decadent establishment can be taxing at times. It’s no wonder I wake with such sore shoulders and back.”

Oswald begins chewing on a thumb nail as he eyes Zsasz. The man is at the viewing window examining Fries’ laboratory. Victor’s smooth head nods a couple of times before he turns around.

Zsasz tilts his head as his eyes remain fixed on Oswald. He begins to remove his dark leather gloves. His rings glint a couple of times in the soft lighting. He stuffs the garments into his coat pockets before unbuttoning his thick pea coat.

Oswald sobers a little when it hits him that Victor is seemingly undressing before his eyes. He sits up, both palms on the lounge cushions as he gapes at the man. He hears Victor say something but he isn’t pay attention.

Victor removes his coat and gun holster; laying them on the edge of the lounge chair. He looms over the small kingpin as he raises an eyebrow.

“Might wanna remove your waistcoat. It would make it easier.”

Oswald huffs at the comment, his thick tongue unable to form coherent words as the two bottles of cabernet have him in a tipsy.

“Wh… What? I...uh… ”

“I’m really good at giving massages.”

Victor grins down at the drunk man before joining him on the lounge chair. Oswald watches with large eyes as Victor’s hands deftly remove the buttons on the waistcoat.

Victor’s blood begins to rush as he strips the small man of his layer.  He can feel the puffs of hot breaths on his face. The scent of wine, pheromones, and faded cologne grip his senses for a moment. He watches intently as his hands slowly and deliberately shuffle the finery off and down Oswald’s arms. He carefully lays the garment on the backrest of the chair.

Oswald can feel Victor’s hands as he slowly removes the waist coat. Warm palms slip under the fabric at his shoulders as he slowly glides it down; fingers caress and stroke his arms. A small gasp escapes his mouth; the action more intimate than he’s accustomed to. He quivers when a pronounced pressure and rapid swelling fill his boxers and slacks. There’s a deep ache that is wholly known and at the same time startling with its untimely presence. Oswald swallows as he looks away from Victor.

Victor works to keep himself calm. It's not till he hears Oswald’s small gasp and the shudder that he leans in. He brings one hand up to palm a red cheek; fingers splayed. He can feel the little bird’s heart pumping wildly at his carotid artery; the hot flesh thrumming against his fingers.

There’s a tender presence of an unsure hand on his chest; it begins to shakily slither up. His spine tingles as the familiar longing begins to chip away at him. He inhales a quick breath and pulls away as he commands

“Lay on your stomach.”

Oswald blinks at the sudden loss of Victor’s body from under his touch. The room reels once and he nods, wanting to close his eyes tight from the drunk fueled spinning that is threatening to ensue.

Victor stands as he watches the small man get into a prone position. He then descends onto Oswald as he carefully straddles him. His plants his feet flat on the ground on either side of the chaise lounge chair. His rear end on the back of Oswald's thighs. He leans over to grip at the small shoulders. His thumbs dig slowly into trapezious muscles as he applies pressure at his palms and fingers.

Oswald exhales as the warm hands begin their work. He can feel the tension of knotted muscles as they slip and slide under Victor’s firm thumbs. He lets out a small moan and melts into the cushion.

Victor begins to rotate his thumbs firmly to get into deeper tissue, eliciting more moans. Victor continues the firm strokes as his eyes wander down Oswald’s body. He grins as he looks down at his crotch butted up to the small glutes. His eyes return to Oswald’s face which is turned to the left; his long lashes rest against red cheeks. His small mouth open as heavy breathes escape parted lips. Victor can feel himself swell rapidly; his cock throbs with anticipation.

Victor digs his thumbs in deeper getting down into the rhomboid minor. Oswald shifts suddenly when firm thumbs happen upon a large knot. He feels pain, but its muted by the alcohol coursing through his system. Hard thumbs strum the large muscle knot once again. He squeaks out.

“There! Ow… ow … ow. Go softer.”

Victor leans in as he continues his firm strokes. He presses his body on top of the squirming man to purr into his ear.

“I can go softer, but in order for it to feel better I should go deeper… _harder._ ”

Victor grinds his hips into the small man as he firmly presses his thumbs back and forth over the knot. He juts out his lower jaw; a small hiss escapes his lips and into Oswald’s ear.

Oswald’s erection throbs with the intrusion of those hot moist words in his ear. He forgets the pain and whimpers, craving more of Victor’s invasive breath and seductive tone. He pushes his buttocks back against the straddling man. He can feel Victor’s hands begin to descend down his back; his hips thrusting with growing urgency. The action causes his body to press and slide against the cushions of the chair which in turn cause friction on his full cock. Oswald lets loose a soft moan.

Victor’s thumbs stroke softly at first as they inch down but dig deeper after a few passes before continuing their trek; his hips mimic the motions.

Oswald no longer has the luxury of reasoning, the alcohol along with Victor’s touch have blanketed his senses, he just _feels_.

Zsasz continues his rhythmic soft shallow cycles then deeper harder ones as he continues to make his way down. His erection painfully engorged and straining against his pants. He can hear the swift and labor cadence of Oswald’s breaths turning into panting. Once he reaches his lower back he presses in firmly; his hips thrust in deeper maintaining rhythm with his hands.

Oswald can feel his body rocked into the cushions as Victor holds his lower back down, no longer massaging but thrusting roughly on top of him.

Victor’s breaths hitch and spike as he loses himself, wildly dry humping Oswald into the chair. The friction not enough; he growls as his hands grip onto Oswald’s pants waistband. He wants to rip it all off of him and glide his cock up and down his ass crack. He hears Oswald panting and moaning into the cushions.

“Uh...shi...Vic...plea”

Zsasz grits his teeth and releases the waistbands from his grasp. He tempers himself as he relents his thrusting and returns to massaging Oswald’s shoulders. He drapes himself on top of the prone body and works him softly. A whimper catches his attention as Oswald turns his face to the side. He leans in and growls into his ear.

“Ssssssh. I’m not done with you yet.”

Victor flicks the tip of his tongue out and licks a small stripe along Oswald’s jaw and cheek. His hips thrust hard into Oswald, abandoning the massage; he gives into his base urges. He tents himself over the smaller man as he works his hips in quick steady undulations.

Oswald is teetering as the friction continues and does not relent. The feel of Zsasz on top of him, his scent and his heat, have him in a heady daze. Before he can register the bloom of an orgasm, it hits him quick. He cries out.

“Vic..Victor!”

Oswald tenses as he gushes into his finery. His spent body then goes slack as he slips into blissful oblivion from the orgasm and alcohol.

Victor’s left hand quickly snakes under Oswald’s body and down into his pants. He finds the wet cum he so desperately wants to taste again. He fingers all along the small cock as it returns to normal. He leans into the passed out man’s ear and tongues the shell. His body quivers as _the thing_ in him cries out to be unleashed with his prey so close and so helpless.

Oswald stirs just a little; Victor removes his hand and laps up all the dewey essence from his finger pads. The tingle in his spine increases; Victor inhales a deep long breath as he shuts his eyes tightly.

_Not yet._

He takes another long deep breath in and reluctantly gets up from the passed out man. He strings his arms through his holster and coat. He then rolls Oswald over and grabs both wrists to get him to sit up.

“Boss, let’s get you dressed and in the car. You don’t wanna sleep here. You’ll wake up with new knots. Hey…”

Victor smacks Oswald’s face. The small kingpin nods and tries his best to stay awake as Zsasz dresses him. Once Victor gets Oswald’s waistcoat and jacket back on he attempts to stand the semi-passed out man.

Oswald sways and falls into Victor. Two strong arms wrap around him, pulling him in. He tries his best to focus but the effort taxes his abilities; he begins fading again. Desperate to stay in the moment, he quickly shakes his head and pleads.

“Kiss me… “

Victor raises both eyebrows and guffaws.

“Sure ‘bout that? Didn’t seem you wanted me to kiss you earlier.”

Oswald blinks and offers a half-hearted shrug; he leans in. Victor’s mouth quickly descends onto the offered lips. Teeth and tongue assault Oswald’s lips as the embrace tightens around his waist. His inexperience with kissing evident as he gasps and tries to keep up with Zsasz.

Victor forcefully shoves his tongue into Oswald’s mouth. He coils his arms tightly around the small waist. He begins to suck and bite at lips that are now trying to pull away.

Oswald didn’t know what to make of the aggressive take-over of his mouth. He tries to pull away from the sharp teeth biting down on his lower lip, but Victor doesn’t relent. The room starts spinning and Oswald stops resisting. He gives in; his hands shakily clutch at Victor’s coat.

Zsasz pulls back; he can hear his own heavy breaths. His erection is straining and painfully full; he craves release deep inside the small man. His eyes track back and forth between Oswald’s closed eyes and swollen lips. He can feel the thumping of a fast beating heart against his chest.

The deep lull of alcohol pulls Oswald down into a perpetual spin; the room violently lurches in the background. He closes his eyes and rests his head on Victor’s chest. That’s when he feels his head pulled back, fingers grasping at his hair. A hot wet mouth attaches to his neck followed by the sharp sting of teeth. Hard fingers claw down hard into his back. Oswald then knows no more and passes out.

Victor emits a low guttural growl as he sinks his teeth in. He clutches at the limp form in his grasps. He turns and smashes Oswald against the glass in front of Edward’s icy prison; his teeth and tongue biting and lapping at the slender neck. The urge to taste blood consumes him and just when he’s about to clamp down harder he hears the door begin to open. Victor quickly pulls way and slips Oswald’s arm around his own neck as he snakes an arm around the small waist. He pulls Oswald from the glass as he eyes the unwanted visitor.

Fries walks in, wearing his cryo suit. He halts just two steps past the door and scrunches his face at the scene before him. Oswald is seemingly passed out; a couple of bottles are sitting on the floor. Fries turns his attention to Zsasz and raises an eyebrow as he nods at the barely conscious man.

“Another bender, huh?”

Zsasz grits his teeth and swallows; that’s when he tastes the copper essence. He notices Fries’s face melt into a scowl as his ethereal eyes scrutinize his face.

Fries takes two steps closer and says.

“You been in here awhile. If he’s this drunk why haven’t you taken him back?”

Fries then notices a hint of red at Victor’s mouth line. His silvery eyes quickly snap back to the limp man in his arms.

Zsasz adjusts Oswald in his grasp and sneers at Fries.

“Is anythin’ ever easy with _him?_ ”

Zsasz crinkles his brow and pulls the corners his mouth down; eyes narrowing.

“You gonna move? You’re kinda a large icy door block and Penguin isn’t as light as he looks. Also, be a doll; get his briefcase and cane won’t chya?”

Fries turns and gathers Oswald’s belongings and follows them out to the garage. Zsasz gets Oswald into the car. He notices the huge angry red bite marks he left on the small man’s neck. He presses his lips tight and squeezes his eyes shut for a second. He turns to Fries with his hands out to take the items.

Freeze eyes Zsasz as he rolls the small man into his car. The marks on Oswald’s neck a bright red beacon and a warning.

_I can’t leave him alone with Mr. Date Rape. Where does Oswald find these creeps?_

Freeze makes up his mind. He wanders to the other side of the car and slides in without a word.

Zsasz peers in the car and questions.

“Uh… what are you doin? There’s not enough room for all three of us.”

Freeze reaches over and straps Oswald’s seatbelt on. He glances at Victor before stating.

“Take the van. Keys are in the ignition, I’ll get Oswald safely to the mansion.”

Zsasz glares at the dismissive freak before closing the vehicle door. He watches as the car pulls away.

 

— C —

 

Carmine recieves word from his informants that Zsasz has not been seen by any of his capos. He’s on the phone with Alessandro Savelli, a long time friend. He runs the west side streets in Gotham, owns a railroad shipping yard and several trucking businesses.

“It’s good to hear business is as strong as ever. The others have informed you of my calls?”

A deep sigh emits from the earpiece of Carmine’s rotary phone.

“Yes, I heard. Carmine, my dear friend. You are like a brother to me and know when I say this it doesn’t come with any ease. I had my men keep watch over Penguin ever since he started grabbing more territory from lesser gangs. I was told your boy, Victor Zsasz, is with him now.”

Carmine nods.

“Yes, I suspected as much. I won’t keep you on the phone; give Chiara my love.”

“Yes, I will do so.”

“One more thing Ales, do me a favor. If Zsasz ever shows up to the capos stronghold make no attempts on him or tell him I know of his alliance with Penguin. I will handle this personally.”

“Of course, Carmine. I will inform the others, goodbye old friend.”

Carmine replaces the handset back onto the housing. Memory of Victor’s request to return to Gotham plays in his mind.

_“Well?”_

_He watches the shifting assassin; those dark eyes look away for a split second. He can see the young man tense up as he snaps his gaze back on him._

_“Penguin has killed off several of your Gotham alliances. Also, I heard her, Sophia means to go to Gotham and it involves the five families. I should be there to keep watch.”_

_Carmine gestures for a couple of his men to lift the dead body off the garage floor and dispose of it. He glances at Victor. His young enforcer’s face is hard, jaws clenched, but his eyes are what give the pale man away. They twitch and scan incessantly when he’s stressed or lying. He’s also notices that Victor is balling his fists; his arms hung tightly at his sides._

_“Young man, as far as Cobblepot is concerned, Gotham is his now. Sophia is ambitious and wicked, but she dares not go against me in Gotham.”_

_“Don Falcone, Sophia has never proven herself trustworthy. That’s why we’re here killin’ her informants. Is it not?”_

_Carmine inhales a deep breath; he keeps a hard gaze on the tense man, allowing a long uncomfortable pause to stretch out before conceding to that fact. Carmine nods._

_He recalls the day he took Victor to Mooney’s; it was his first time meeting her. Back then Victor wasn’t as composed and in charge of his murderous urges as he is now. When Zsasz laid his eyes upon Oswald, he nearly broke Butch’s arm. The large bodyguard tried stopping the killer from following the lithe umbrella boy into the back of the club._

_He beckons Victor to stand before him. He notices the momentary hesitation before the sleek and powerful man bounds over. Carmine reaches out and holds Victor’s chin in his right hand as he locks his gaze onto deep large eyes._

_“Unlike my only surviving child, you have earned a place_ **_deep_ ** _in my heart. It saddens me that you think me a fool. I know of your preoccupation with Cobblepot; I’ve known it for years. This isn’t to return to Penguin under the guise of thwarting Sophia and protecting my allies in Gotham? Is it?”_

_He watches as Victor shifts again while trying hard to maintain steady eye contact. Smooth features crinkle as Victor reaches up to bring Carmine’s hand to his mouth; a soft kiss plants and lingers on his open palm._

_Zsasz shakes his head and swallows before replying._

_“Falcone, I should be there to make sure Sophia isn’t plannin’ to return. I know what I heard.”_

_Carmine takes the back of Victor’s neck into his right hand and pulls him in. He touches his forehead to the pale gunman’s. Zsasz quickly reaches out and embraces him; the color of his face gone deathly pallid._

_“Victor, whatever Sophia is up to, I will handle it. You in Gotham will only make things worse. The matter of this subject isn’t up for debate.”_

_The assassin presses his lips tightly and blinks; he nods his head. Carmine leans in and plants a kiss on Victor’s temple before letting him go. He gathers his gloves and gun off the hood of his car and makes his way towards the driver’s side. Before getting behind the wheel he commands._

_“Finish the next mark, then take a few days for yourself. Forget about Gotham.”_

Victor disappeared after his last assignment. Carmine pours himself a glass of water and returns to the phone to make another call.

 

— 卌 —

 

Victor pulls the cumbersome van onto the mansion grounds. He arrives in time to see Freeze carrying Oswald through the service side entrance. Victor gnashes his teeth as his eyes follow Freeze’s trajectory. He slams the vehicle in park, kills the engine, and hops out. He makes a brisk heading towards the same doors, but halts in his path when he hears a familiar sound from his pocket; a ringtone he set specifically for Carmine Falcone. His anger swiftly dissolves; he hesitates a moment before grabbing his phone from his coat.

“Don Falcone.”

“Victor, I’m not calling to express my discontent. We can save that conversation for another day. Have you reached out to the capos to find out what Sophia is planning?”

Victor can feel the muscles in his face tense hard; his eye begins to twitch. Though his Don is soft spoken he knew there was going to be _hell to pay_. He quickly responds.

“No, Don Falcone. I… uh… been keepin’ an eye on Penguin. I know he means to over take the west side soon enough. I’ll head to the stronghold in a couple of days.”

Victor swallows, his throat dry as a desert. He mentally curses himself for sounding flustered in his reply.

“Victor, you have a week to do as you said _you_ _would_ , then you are to return. Do as I say and I will forgive your disobedience this one time. ”

“Yes, Don Falcone.”

Victor grits his teeth as he places his phone back into his coat. He eyes the side entrance to the mansion before turning to get to his car out front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter production has been slow! I do apologize. I wish I could say when next chapters will be out but life on a newly established homestead can get busy!
> 
> Oh and the book Oswald is reading Edward is called, “Swan Song” A post apocalyptic story about a girl named Swan who develops powers to make plants grow. Its a thick book but so worth the read.
> 
> PS...to the PS. 
> 
> I have no problems with NIN. I love Trent Reznor. LOL
> 
> ~FC


	4. The Esteemed Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zsasz heads out for a night of stress relief but the next morning he is forced into an unexpected meeting with someone he didn’t know was in town. Oswald contemplates Zsasz’s intentions after their intimate exchange.

 

 

— 卌 —

 

 

Solange handles a stack of returned RSVPed invitation cards and writes the numbers into a ledger. The Foxglove is hosting a special auction tonight; it’s by invitation only. An event that happens once a year to showcase _merchandise_ for wealthy clients looking for something new to play with or to procure popular escorts that have exclusive clientele.

The night always starts with the new girls/boys lucky enough to gain acceptance into the Foxglove. Solange has a very discerning eye for what sells, _especially_ to her choosy customers.

After the new flesh is paraded around the event closes with the experienced escorts; workers who specialize in specific erotic skills. The Foxglove veterans have a starting bid no less than ten grand. The new escorts are given ten percent of whatever their bid closes for; the experienced workers take an even cut of theirs.

Solange hears one of her bouncers make his way through the lobby and towards the hostess podium. His voice is deep, his tone stiff.

“Mistress, Victor Zsasz is here.”

The voluptuous dark-skinned woman adjusts her breasts and flips her freshly straightened locks behind her shoulders. She’s wearing an off-the shoulder hot pink bodysuit that highlights her ample breasts and hips. She nods at the man who briskly turns to let the visitor in.

The sound of long methodical footsteps catch her attention. She sucks her teeth and shakes her head as she assesses the man in black. Victor is a long time friend and customer. She pushes the ledger aside and closes the book to fling the smirking man a disapproving look. She flutters her long lashes as her neck swivels from side to side.

“Boy, you got some kinda _nerve_ struttin’ up in here with that goofy-ass grin after leavin’ Gotham without so much as a word!”

Solange blinks her long lashes as her head keeps swiveling.

Victor saunters up close to the irked Foxglove proprietor; his smile growing bigger as he rolls his eyes all over her body. He starts swaying as he purrs.

“Solange, you’re so _radiant_ when you’re mad. Didn’t you get my text messages— _my grin is goofy?_ ”

Zsasz raises an eyebrow as he drapes himself over the perturbed woman. Solange brings up a pointy index finger and pushes it into Victor’s chest. She pulls back a little to retort.

“Yes, it is. Yes. I. Did. **However** , you skipped out before you paid me for what you did to Jessie. That boy was in the hospital for a week after you got through wit’ him.”

Victor plants a kiss on her ruby lips and smiles. The dark woman melts her harden expression just a bit.

“Okay, I’ll cover your expenses for that; you’ll have it by mornin’. Actually, I’m here to leave a deposit.”

Solange sighs and smacks Victor on the ass before pulling away to keep writing in her ledger. She glances at him as she asks. “The usual?”

Solange knows that Zsasz only has one kind of preference, but once in a while he’ll surprise her by switching it up. For the longest time, Victor only ever asked for small, pale, dark-haired boys. She knows this stems from his _on again-off again_ stint with Penguin. Now that he’s back in Gotham she anticipated his wants to remain unchanged.

Victor bites his lower lip and replies. “Platinum… white. Muscular is fine and a bit taller than my usual is okay too. Silver eyes, it’s weird I know, but I don’t care. I just want them that color.

Solange shakes her head and eyes Victor mischievously. She lets out an ear piercing cackle and nods. “He a _fine muthafucka,_  ain’t he? You seen him naked yet or is he straight?”

Victor feigns ignorance. “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?”

Solange cackles again and places a hand on her hip. She eyes Victor from top to bottom and back again.

“Boy, _whateva_! Penguin loves to surround himself with some fine ass men, _present company included_. His boy, Freeze… MMm! I’m sure that man has ruined many panties all over Gotham!”

Victor shrugs as a large knowing smile plasters on his face. Solange studies the man for a moment before shaking her head in defeat. She snatches a blank invitation to the auction and holds it out. Victor scrunches his face and nods at the embossed card.

“What’s that for?”

“For the auction I’m havin’ tonight. Since you’re in the mood for a specific sort of stress relief. I think you should come.”

Victor raises an eyebrow still refusing to take the card. Solange sucks her teeth and adds.

“Listen Victor, I don’t mind supplyin’ ya when you get an itch. However, you are makin’ my job difficult when you harm my pros. If my tricks don’t feel safe wit’ me they’ll turn to Madame Xephra and my clients will follow. So! That being said, you’ll bring dat fine ass of yours to the auction, be prepared to throw down serious mola, and see what I have in stock for your finicky tastes. I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

Victor takes the card and decides to question Solange though he knows the answer. “I don’t suppose the twins are available in the next couple of days?”

Solange shakes her head and sighs.

“Them two boys haven’t been seen in almost a week. My bouncers and schedulers said they must have skipped out in the middle of the night. It’s a damn shame seen as though they brought in major buyers and they just got their rights to be exclusive too.”

Victor grumbles at her reply. “Damn shame.”

He glances at her as she finishes in her ledger and shuffles the RSVPed cards into a basket.

Victor recalls having the two pale beauties in his kill room. The one named Ian was strapped down on his surgical table; a heretic’s fork strapped to his chin and sternum, forcing him to keep his focus on the ceiling and quiet. He could only _hear_ what Zsasz was doing to his brother.

_The helpless screams as David’s life spilled all over the floor._

_The warmth slowly ebbing from his broken body._

_The sounds were so rich in my room._

_But Ian’s whimpers were the sweetest._

Victor smirks; Solange doesn’t suspect he had any involvement in their disappearance. He never preys on the pros from The Foxglove out of courtesy to his friend. However, his time away from Gotham and his anticipation of seeing Oswald again had him in a heightened level of…  _excitement_. He knew he was going to have to quench his urges before seeing the small kingpin.

The task of luring the boys away was easy, having been a recurring client, they knew him well. The fact he always tipped generously was the clincher. The twins were more than happy to meet him at his place.

_The furnace burned extra hot that night._

Solange sucks her teeth and lays a hand on Victor’s shoulder.

“Come to the auction. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised as to why I invited you. But, I’m puttin’ my foot down. _Do not hurt my pros._ ”

She points a long nailed index finger at Victor as she keeps a steady gaze. Victor smiles and replies.

“Okay, but I make no promises on how rough I get.”

Solange returns to her ledger and says dismissively. “Just don’t maim him to where he can’t work. Oh and I want compensation for that boy **before** mornin’.”

Victor kisses her cheek and waves the invitation at her as he walks away.

 

— 卌 —

 

 

At the auction.

Victor is sitting upfront sipping on a mineral water waiting for the event to start. The main floor to the Foxglove is filled with upscale clients; the wait staff rush to fill their drink orders. The stage upfront has a disco ball spinning as lo-fi music keeps a chill ambience while everyone waits for the event to begin. He spies Solange in a sleek red dress split on either side that showcases her thick curvy legs. He licks his lips and watches her ample breasts jiggle as she slides into a seat next to him. She leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t forget, no maiming and no scarring. He’s to remain beautiful and able to walk after you’re done wit’ him. **Understand**?”

Victor rolls his eyes, beaming her a large lopsided grin.

“Yes, mommy.”

Solange playfully smacks a cheek and plants a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. She pulls away and heads towards the stage.

Victor watches as Solange and crew bring the new escorts out one by one. Wealthy clients bid anxiously; after a bidder wins they take their prize upstairs to private rooms.

Solange hammers her gavel on her podium as a long blonde-haired fox goes for ten grand. He watches as an old rotund man, dressed to the nines come up and pays the cashier. The girl is led down the stage to the waiting man’s hands.

Victor glances at Solange. She winks at him and introduces the next items for bid.

“Ladies and gentle freaks, the final new additions to our lustrous establishment are for those who have a discerning taste for Gotham’s _villainous_ bad boys. A little role play, if you will. They’re sexy, hot, and _oh so_ **_bad!_** For the right price they can be yours for the night. Clutch the pearls baby dolls! Here comes: _The Penguin_!“

A boy dressed as Oswald comes strutting out. His raven hair long and swept to the side. He is wearing a black tailed suit with a white shirt, purple waistcoat and gold tie. He’s sporting an umbrella as a cane and even a fake limp. The boy is younger and prettier than Oswald.

Victor raises an eyebrow as a large grin leaps onto his face. His eyes dart back to Solange who shakes her head once and gives him a signal to wait.

“The infamous Oswald Cobblepot is as bad as they get. OH! Lawrd, have mercy! I’m gettin’ the vapors! The lights are so bright!”

The Oswald impersonator pops open the umbrella and holds it over Solange. The attendees chuckle and clap.

“Thank you, baby! Let’s start the biddin’!”

Victor stares at the boy as deep pocketed buyers battle each other.

He remembers back on the first day he set his eyes on Oswald:

_Carmine and Fish stand signifying their meeting has come to an end. The both of them head to the exit; he watches as Oswald hurries to hold the umbrella over his mistress. The two bosses make their way to Carmine’s car. The day is rainy as it usually is in Gotham during Fall season._

_Victor stands behind his Don as he and Mooney say parting words to each other. His attention remains locked onto Oswald as it has been the entire afternoon. The umbrella boy’s posture is rigid and his face downcast to stare at Fish’s shoulders._

_Then the waif looks up at him…_

_..._ **_daring_ ** _to lock eyes._

_His expression seethes with venom— challenging him._

_Victor sees it…_

_..._ **_the thing_ ** _within Oswald._

_Zsasz is great reader of people. He can easily pick up on nervous ticks, physical tell-tales and subtle speech inflections. People always seem drawn to him because of his ability to anticipate social cues. Also, he’s well aware how his looks influences reactions._

_Oswald uses his looks to his benefit as well. At first glance one would dismiss him as being awkward, inept, and weak. Feeling safe, the person will lay themselves open because they think of Oswald as nothing more than_ **_easy prey_** _._

 _Zsasz sees_ **_something_ ** _in the umbrella boy…_

Victor comes back to the present. The insatiable urge to claim Oswald begins to vex him.

_Still too soon._

The taste of Oswald’s blood and semen haunt his mind. The deep bite marks he left all over the slender throat makes him hot— _bothered_. He was to set fuck him, conscious or not, till— _Freeze._  The anger flashes deep in his gut over the frost man’s interruption.

Victor feels his teeth brux; his jaw stiffens. He relaxes his muscles and puffs out a long breath. He slumps in his seat and incessantly bounces his leg. Thoughts of ravishing Oswald consume him. He brings the bottle of mineral water to his lips and guzzles it all down.

_It’s probably best. I woulda gotten carried away and killed him._

The hammer of Solange’s gavel snaps him out of his needling thoughts. The bid is over for the Oswald look-alike. Victor peers over at Solange.

The woman winks at him and smirks. She mouths to Victor while the audience is distracted.

“ _The next one.”_

The winner takes his escort from the stage as Solange smiles brightly.

“Ooooo! My… my. Can you all feel that? It’s gettin’ awfully _cold_ up in here!”

Zsasz sits up, suddenly at full attention. The crowds chuckle and murmur to themselves.

“He’s a tall drink of ice _cold_ water. The body and face that can melt panties and jockstraps clean off— _yes I know, ironic_ — give it up for Mr. Freeze!”

A pro with startling features struts out as icy plumes fill the stage; he’s brandishing a toy ray gun. His face is masculine but not like Fries; it has a bit of softness at the jawline and his cheek bones aren’t as pronounced. His lips are full and his nose very Romanesque, much like the real Freeze. Victor doesn’t mind the fact the boy’s eyes are blue, the rest of the package is mostly dead on.

The looker is playfully aiming at the crowds as the toy gun makes a trilling sound. He is decked out in a costume ensemble that is a campy bargain bin version of Mr. Freeze’s suit. His hair is stark white and spiked back; his skin just as pale. The boy is obviously cut but he’s not as big as the real Freeze.

Zsasz quickly stands and hands the cashier a thick envelope. He’s not in a mood to prolong things with bidding. He wants to play with “Mr. Freeze” as soon as possible. The cashier nervously looks at Solange as Victor casually says.

“Fifty grand.”

Zsasz turns and glares at the crowds testing anyone to outbid him. His guns glint in the lights, his eyes level on anyone daring to make eye contact. He can hear the gavel pound once and Solange merrily shout.

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!”

The Freeze look-alike glances at Victor and smirks. The young man saunters off the stage all the while keeping his eyes on Victor.

Zsasz watches as the pro descends the stairs and makes his way over to him. He beckons Solange over while there is an intermission before the popular workers come out.

The woman comes around and stoops low to hear what he has to say.

“There’s an additional fifty grand in the envelope for your troubles.”

Solange smiles as the Freeze impersonator comes over, Zsasz wraps an arm around him. She leans in one more time and whispers.

“Promise me, now. He stays beautiful and unharmed.”

Victor turns and smooches her cheek.

“I promise.”

Solange, satisfied, takes a small break to get a drink and to mingle with the crowds. Victor ushers the boy ahead of him as they make for the elevators leading up to the rooms.

Once in the elevator Victor pulls the boy to him by his large belt. He examines his entertainment for the night. Victor juts out his jaw as his eyes roll all over the boy’s physique. The pro reaches out to touch him, but Victor snatches the offending hand by the wrist. He quickly explains what he wants of him.

“Stay in character; don't talk. Do as I say.”

The young man nods. The elevator doors open; Zsasz strides out and heads down the hall to the next empty room.

 

— 卌 —

 

In a neighboring room a client is balancing a full glass of brandy on his forehead at behest of his dominatrix. The old man is naked; his arms are bent forearm to forearm and tied behind his back. His bound arms are tethered to his legs that are also tied together. He sweats as his Dom counts down from thirty. Each successful attempt he is rewarded with thirty seconds of fellatio. If he fails he is flogged with her nine tails; three hard lashes.

“Three … two … “

From the next room a loud boom rocks the pictures on the wall. The man drops the glass as another boom rattles throughout the room. Sounds of two men fighting ensues as loud vicious cursing reverberates throughout. There’s the constant sick smack of fists hitting flesh as grunts and groans travel to and fro. The shrill of objects breaking captures the john’s complete attention; the man peers at the wall as fixtures threaten to fall. His _shock and awe_ is suspended at the screech of his mistress.

“ _Fail!_ ”

The man screams; the unforgiving slap of the leather whips sting harshly on his already tender bottom. His mistress cackles with glee.

 

— 卌 —

 

The young Freeze impersonator climbs on top of his dazed john.

Zsasz growls as he shakes off the last punch. The pro has a mean right hook and a strong left follow-up. He leers suggestively when he tastes his own blood in his mouth. He thrusts his hips up into the dominating man. The pro raises his fists to deliver multiple blows to Victor’s face.

The pale gunman covers his face with both arms; using his forearms as a shield; his hands act as buffers in case his head gets knocked back. He blocks three blows before grabbing the young pro’s right dominant arm, pinning it up against the boy’s abdominals. At the same time, he wraps his other arm around the pro’s waist. He quickly locks the boy’s right leg with his own and rolls him onto his compromised side.

Victor scrambles on top as he leans his right forearm onto the exposed throat; cutting off the his air. The platinum looker gasps and tries to grab onto anything in hopes of tearing Victor off of him.

Zsasz’s left hand quickly produces a six inch blade from a concealed holster attached to his belt at his back. He brings the sharp knife to the impersonator’s face, halting the boy’s struggles. Victor growls.

“ _Interrupting_ freak. How dare you keep _him_ from me! I can’t wait to gut you, but before I do I want you to suck me dry. If I so much as feel teeth, this six inch blade is gonna be stickin’ in that pretty head.”

The look of pure terror and confusion on the gorgeous face sends a flash of heat throughout Victor’s body. Though _the thing_ inside him lies dormant, uninterested; he craves the pro nonetheless. Most of his recreational endeavors are spurred on by this other entity, yet he still derives pleasure with _normal_ encounters.

_Tonight is just to keep me from stabbing Fries in the face._

Victor didn’t know what he hated most. Fries playing Oswald’s white knight or the fact that somehow, _that freak,_ can seemingly _sense_ what he is. The frozen scientist’s agitation seems to always be pricked when he’s around.

Zsasz points at his crotch with his blade; his eyes are wide as he sears the Freeze look-alike with his dark gaze; the young man nods. Zsasz scoots back and gets on his knees. He watches the boy sit up then remove his gloves.

The young man quickly works Victor’s buttons and zipper; he keeps a wary eye on the knife. His hand reaches for the man’s boxers. The size of the tent catches him off-guard; he smiles as he quickly unleashes the pulsing large cock.

Victor places the blade, sharp edge out, to his mouth to hold. He yanks off both of his gloves and greedily digs his hands into the white locks. He eagerly thrusts his freed erection onto the boy’s face, rubbing it on his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

The boy looks up as he handles the large cock. The large veined flesh throbs and jolts, begging to be sucked. He strokes his john a couple of times then turns his attention to the glistening tip. He takes a small swipe then another.

Victor quakes and moans as the velvet wet tickles his blunt head. He takes the knife from his mouth and into his left hand. He groans as he yanks the boy’s hair back, making him look up. He brings the blade to the exposed neck as he demands.

“Look me in the eyes when you suck me off.”

The boy maintains eye contact when he flicks his tongue out and lays a long wet trail from the base to the tip. He holds the thick flesh firm at the base then proceeds to swallow Victor down to the hilt.

Zsasz thrusts into the hot wet mouth. He shudders when he feels the tip of his dick slide down the boy’s throat. He grabs tightly to the boy’s hair and holds him steady as he thrusts deep and hard into his mouth. The sounds and sensations of the boy gasping and gurgling on his big dick makes him purr.

“Shit… you little freak. Suck me.. _suck me_...come on.”

The pro reaches for Victor’s hips and grasps tightly onto them as he begins sucking and humming; his tongue wiggling all along the base.

“Oh sh—i—t!! Fuck!

Victor melts into the eager mouth; his senses lost. Since returning to Oswald he hasn’t found time to relieve himself. He knows this will be a quick session. He tenderly strokes the head of white hair as the boy diligently works him. Victor can feel himself about to explode. He grits his teeth and growls.

“Finger me.”

The boy looks into Victor’s eyes as his hands grab the waistband of his pants and boxers, forcing them down in one hard yank.

The boy pulls off the throbbing dick and quickly licks two of his fingers then resumes sucking Victor off. His hand slithers in between Victor’s legs, finding the quivering muscle. His index finger slips in first.

“Fuck! Yes… another!”

The pro pulls out then inserts both index and middle finger; he reaches up to find Victor’s prostate. A deep low groan emits and he knows he found the spot. He gently rubs as his mouth sucks eagerly.

Victor holds the pro’s head as his rams his cock several times down his throat. The fingers deep inside work expertly on his spot. His body flashes with spiking heat, the pressure at the base of his dick begins to bloom outward. Victor’s muscles tense tightly. He closes his eyes shut and throws his head back as he howls.

“Don’t stop you little freak! Drink me down… fu— uuuck!!”

Victor bursts copiously down the pro’s throat. His hips thrusting erratically as fingers keep working his prostate. He shudders as the boy continues to suck, milking every last drop out of him. Victor shudders and collapses back onto his heels. The mouth and fingers detach from his body, only stark blue eyes remain glued to him.

He quickly pulls up his pants before grabbing the boy by the hair. He forces him onto his back as he tents himself over him, placing the knife under his chin.

The boy whimpers when he feels the sharp tip make contact. Victor brings the blade to rest on the boy’s cheek as he leans in. He licks all along the pro’s neck and up to his temple. His free hand strokes the mess of white locks as he purrs sweetly.

“Such a good little freak.”

Victor licks at the boy’s lips. He sits up as his eyes wander the disheveled boy. His hand disappears into his coat then reappears to drop a wad of cash beside the supine man’s head.

“You will keep the hair, lose the costume, and find contacts that are silver.”

The boy nods his head once.

“I will contact Solange when I want you.”

Victor scrambles to his feet and stands over him. The boy remains on his back, eyeing the knife as it returns to its sheath. Victor beams a lopsided grin at the petrified worker as he shoves his shirt back into his pants. 

“You have some good fightin’ moves. You train?”

The pro nods.

Victor fastens his belt and retrieves his gloves off the ground. He squats over the boy and nods once. 

“Good. I plan on gettin’ rougher. Don’t hold back next time.”

Victor digs into his coat and drops another wad of cash on the boy then leaves the room.

 

— O —

 

Oswald wakes in the late morning atop of his bedspread still dressed in clothes from last night. The glare of the late morning sun assaults his eyes. There’s a migraine throbbing throughout his head and the feeling of dryness deep in his core; he smacks his lips and groans.

He slowly sits up, the action makes his ailments worse. He scoots to the edge of the bed to collect himself. That’s when he feels a peculiar sting on his neck. He reaches up, and to his concern, finds several fresh scabs. He winces when his finger pads disturb the crust; a few bits crumble off.

The events from last night slowly come to him. He remembers Victor on top of him, massaging— _thrusting_. He sits wide-eyed; his guts seize when he remembers begging Zsasz to kiss him.

_Oh, no._

Oswald clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. His mortification over last night’s behavior only compounds his hangover. He grips his forehead and mutters to himself. “You idiot.”

He shuffles into the bathroom, striping all his layers; he prepares his bath tub with his favorite scented salts. He touches the scabs again as he heads towards the bathroom mirror. The angry and disturbing wounds are dark red. His skin, blue and dark purple inside the bites. There are at least three overlapping bite marks and discolored bruised skin.

_Victor, really went at me. My neck looks horrid. I probably should cover myself till I can heal. Or ask Ivy if she has a balm that will make this go away._

Oswald slips into his steamy bath water and sighs. His mind wandering through a gambit of questions.

_Does he like me? Has he always liked me? Will he want to pursue me? How will this affect our working relationship? Should I approach him?_

He begins to wash himself bringing the wet cloth to his chin. His other hand softly strokes his bite marks.

_I only wish I had been sober so I can remember his kisses. Perhaps he’ll want to kiss me again._

Oswald beams a large dreamy smile as he slides down a bit further into his water.

 

— 卌 —

 

Victor heads out early for the Falcone capos stronghold. He knows they meet up during Monday mornings to discuss business and to ensure ties are kept strong. Late last night Victor informed his girls, Tash and Ursula, to take up survelience over the home till he can get there.

He recalls over hearing Sophia on the phone a few days before he approached Don Falcone about heading back to Gotham.

_Once they attack him on his turf we will hit strategic locations. Penguin has a huge alliance… I’ve already accounted for that. That’s why I’ve reached out to my contact to keep the GCPD busy… Well, if we don’t have their cooperation then they are of no use to us. I can’t have my father interfering if they attempt to seek his help._

Victor came to Gotham for personal reasons but also to thwart Sophia’s plans. He has a hunch she will go after her father’s loyalists first then Penguin.

He drives his 1968 Chrysler Imperial down a long, narrow, winding road leading to the modest estate. He rounds a curve that cuts through thick woods only to see a road block of two cars up ahead.

He quickly stops his car and narrows his eyes; standing in the road is Sophia and a few of her men. Victor places his car in park when he sees none of them have their weapons drawn.

Sophia is standing patiently as she adjusts her gloves. Her upbringing as a woman of high society still evident by the way she holds herself: tall, powerful, all the while her expression demure. She waits for Zsasz to exit his car.

Victor knows the Falcone children better than anyone. Having been on the receiving end of Sophia’s jealousy and revenge, he learned quickly just how ruthless she can be. Her hatred stems from being forced to watch as her father bestowed praise, respect, and love upon him. While she earned nothing but his contempt and disregard. Carmine sent her away when she turned fifteen, to study abroad.

Then there’s Mario, Carmine’s only son, who wanted nothing to do with his father’s business and changed his last name to further dissociate himself. He choose to use his mother’s maiden name, _Calvi_. His ambitions laid elsewhere, perfectly content to lead a mundane life as a civilian.

Victor turns off his car and casually strides over to Sophia. His expression neutral and unreadable; he dares not risk anything so quickly. He knew she would be waiting for him before he could reach the capos. He’s been made aware of a tail that’s been following him since he left Carmine’s southern home. He inwardly grins as he plants his feet firmly in front of the last Falcone heir.

Sophia sticks her chin out as she smiles pleasantly. Her greeting seemingly warm as she says.

“Hello Zsasz, I have been waiting for you. I was informed you would be heading to the estate.”

Victor narrows his eyes and flashes her a grin.

“Sophia, what are you doin’ in Gotham?”

The lithe woman smiles and approaches Victor. She retorts under her breath.

“The same can be questioned of you...  _Charity Case._ ”

Victor’s nerves spark with white hot anger. Her and Mario often called him that to keep him one notch below them at all times. Despite the insult, his grin remains.

“I’m here to talk to the capos as per your father’s request. If you’d like I can call him and see if he’s cool with you being here, but I gotta a feelin’ he doesn’t know you snuck away.”

Sophia softly chuckles as she takes a breath in.

“And what would my father say when he finds out his highly esteemed and cherished _son_ is working for Penguin? I imagine it would break his heart to know how not only did you disobeyed him by coming to Gotham, but how you are helping Oswald eradicate his alliances.”

Zsasz shakes his head and looks at her incredulously. He drawls with amusement.

“Killin’ Falcone family loyalists sounds more your speed. Goin’ ‘round being a little backstabber just to rub it in your old man’s face. With all them daddy issues bubblin’ under that prim and proper surface I’m surprised you didn’t get into strippin’ like every other unloved...”

Sophia slaps Victor across the face.

The pale gunman grits his teeth as the sting settles deep on his cheek. His dark eyes lock on Sophia as his head slowly turns to face her again. His facial muscles retract as his chin lifts high; he flashes his gnashing teeth.

Sophia undeterred by Victor’s gaze, hisses back. “Who do you think funded the Gilzean Gang? The families paid them to keep Penguin busy while we gathered our numbers! You and your women strolled in and ruined everything! My father is a fool to have trusted you! He will soon see that I am worthy of keeping our family empire alive and well. The few that agree with me will help reclaim the city. You will return to my father and speak nothing of this to him or to Penguin.”

Sophia adjusts her coat and hair as she smiles sweetly.

“I would hate for father to find out he was betrayed for a cheap _encounter_ and a thrill kill.”

Her hazel eyes pierce right through him as he recoils from her words.

“Oh, did you think I wasn’t aware of your… _tendencies_? Finish what you came here for; get your kicks and go back to father.”

Victor’s eyes scan Sophia’s tight lipped expression. His face suddenly brightens with a revelation. He flashes all his teeth as he hisses. 

“You don’t have the numbers.”

Sophia frowns as she replies 

“I **will**. Do as I say, Victor. You have twenty four hours to do what you came to Gotham for and leave.” 

Victor’s hands twitch to riddle Sophia’s form full of bullet holes. The only thing stopping him is what Carmine would think of him. He recalls how the GCPD’s Golden Boy, _son of the sainted Peter Gordon_ , fell hard from the Don’s good graces for killing Mario.

_Jim…_

Zsasz returns to his car and heads into the heart of Gotham. He hopes to convince  the only person who may be able to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love drama and I will address the plot hole that is blaringly obvious in the next chapter or so. Why wouldn’t Sophia just kill Victor where he stood instead of risking him running to tattle on her? Yeah. I will get to that =)
> 
> ~FC


	5. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zsasz makes his way to Jim’s apartment, hoping that the detective will trust him.

 

— 卌 —

 

Jim wakes as the late morning sun shines through the bent slats of his blinds. The bustle of traffic and people below further stir him from sleep. He gets out of bed and stretches; he loves mornings where he can sleep in. It’s very rare that he gets to do so. He has the entire day off and plans on doing nothing other than get some food and maybe go to the batting cages for some fun.

As he goes through his morning bathroom routines, he catches the whiff of coffee. He stops in the middle of brushing his teeth and sniffs a couple of times; the scent seems to be getting stronger.

Jim quickly spits out the paste and wipes his mouth. His brow knits together as he exits his bathroom. He listens intently; he can hear his coffee maker percolating in the kitchen. There’s the distinct sound of his kitchen drawers opening and closing.

_Is Harvey here? He usually gives me a text before coming to my apartment. Wait… he’s working today._

Jim watches his bedroom door as he reaches for his gun holster on his nightstand. He removes his Colt Commander and switches the safety off. He quietly makes his way out of his bedroom and into the hallway. Halfway down the corridor, he steps on a squeaky floorboard. The sound is subtle, but in the moment it seems to fill the apartment with its protest. He grits his teeth in annoyance.

A familiar voice calls out. The tone casual, light-hearted even.

“I’m only here to talk, Jim. Please don’t shoot. I made coffee, Colombian dark roast.”

Jim scrunches his face in confusion as he rounds the corner of his hallway and faces out to his kitchen.

He looks on in shock; Zsasz is in his kitchen preparing two cups of coffee. Jim finds himself transfixed by the busy man. Victor’s sleeves are rolled up; numerous tally marks are visible on his forearms. Jim’s morning visitor seems to have made himself at home; his coat, gloves, and holster lay across a bar stool at the kitchen island. Zsasz smiles as he glances over his shoulder at him; his pale skin luminescent in the morning light. For a moment, Jim finds himself charmed by Victor’s domestic persona.

“Sugar? Cream?”

Jim snaps out of his assessment and sets his gun back on safety. He frowns at the unwelcomed visitor.

Victor’s smile doesn’t falter; he slides a cup of coffee across the kitchen island towards the silent man. He opens the fridge door in hopes of milk with his dark roast, but finds nothing more than a couple of beers, old take-out, and a lump of mold that was once something that might have been edible. Victor frowns.

_The detective keeps his fridge like his cabinets— barren. He must always eat out. Shame, he has tons of bodegas close by._

Victor closes the door and grabs his cup.

“Black it is.”

Jim sighs and gruffs.

“You came to talk, _so talk_.”

Victor turns and smirks; he walks around to a stool and sits. His eyes do a quick sweep of the groggy detective; Jim’s in nothing but a white wife-beater and blue boxers. His dark-blonde hair a mess; long locks fall, dusting the handsome man’s brow. The detective approaches the island and joins him. The large window in the kitchen beams a square patch of sunlight, Jim’s body is bathed in its golden radiance. Victor admires the shimmer of light blonde highlights atop of the messy bedhead. The fine hairs on Jim’s arms have the same golden sheen. The detective leans one arm on the surface of the island. Victor slides the cup of coffee over to him.

Jim places his gun on the island countertop, within easy reach, then takes the offered cup. He knows Zsasz isn’t one to lie about his intentions so he lets his guard down just enough to entertain the man.

Victor sips at the cup and nods his approval to Jim before getting to the point.

“I’ve come to warn you of a comin’ war.”

Jim sets down his cup and chuckles; his tone snarky as he questions.

“ _A war?_  Right. Oswald owns most of the territories. Who would go against him at this point?”

“Sophia Falcone.”

Jim raises an eyebrow at the last name.

“Sophia Falcone? She’s…?”

Victor takes another sip of his coffee and sets the cup down. His response short and matter-of-fact.

“Oh, she’s Carmine’s daughter. She’s demandin’ cooperation from the five families.”

Jim turns in his stool and shakes his head; a frown begins to develop over Victor’s lack of explanation.

“The five families?”

Victor raises an eyebrow and nods.

“The five families are Carmine’s old capos here in Gotham. Sophia means to start a war against Penguin. Plus, and this is why it involves you, she means to go after the GCPD in some way.”

Jim shakes his head and gruffs at Victor’s statement.

“Zsasz, first off why would you tell me this? Aren’t you loyal to Falcone? Seems odd you would set me up to investigate Carmine’s daughter.”

Victor presses his lips tightly together as his dark eyes scan Jim’s hard blue gaze. He replies. “I’m loyal to Carmine. His daughter on the other hand…”

Victor brings up a hand and shakes it from side to side; his smooth features pinch on one side of his face as a lopsided-grin beams brightly.

“Eeeeh.”

Jim is certain the gunman is setting him up for something catastrophic. He doesn’t know what Victor is getting at, but he’s had enough and wants him gone. Jim stands and grabs his gun. His tone authoritative as he gestures to the door.

“Okay, get the hell out. You said what you came to say. Leave.”

Victor turns in the stool and gives Jim a disappointed look. He leans against the island top and brings up both hands in frustration.

“You don’t believe me?”

Jim glares at the unmoving man and shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you and Penguin are getting at trying to set me on Carmine’s daughter— _and I don’t care._ Things aren’t adding up and I’m not biting!”

Victor leaps out of the stool and closes in on Jim as he asserts.

“Penguin doesn’t know I’m here. What I’m tellin’ you is the truth.”

Jim steps into Victor and barks back.

“Then you handle this!”

Victor shakes his head; his tone sober as he states.

“I can’t, Jim. Carmine maybe a fair man, but _blood... is... blood_. You should know that better than anyone.”

Victor’s eyes are wide and his jaw square. He remembers that day when Carmine found out Jim killed Mario and it was all **his** doing.  _I should tell him ‘bout Mario._

Jim rubs the back of his neck and thinks a moment. He quirks an eyebrow and asks.

“I take it Penguin doesn’t know?”

Victor’s face hardens; he shakes his head. Jim narrows his eyes; that sinking feeling in the detective’s gut is telling him that there is more going on and Zsasz isn’t offering up all the details. He questions him further; his tone measured.

“Why not? Why won’t you tell him?”

Zsasz backs away as he presses his lips tight. His eyes search the detective’s; his hands begin balling into fists as his muscles twitch. He puffs out.

“Jim… _I can’t_.”

The detective can’t help but notice how pent up the man looks.

 _He seems cornered and desperate with no where else to go_. _It would explain the absurdity of him coming to me for help._

Jim can sense Victor’s frustration with the questioning, evident by the way he is holding himself. Zsasz is fidgeting; his eyes large and pleading. Jim has a hunch that the man wants to confide in him, but can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t know what to make of Victor’s uncharacteristic demeanor.

“Zsasz, I feel like you’re holding out on me.”

Victor rubs his head; he’s becoming agitated with the entire situation. If he involves Penguin, Sophia will involve her father. Though Victor does not feel love; he respects Don Falcone immensely. He knows the old man will not forgive him for aligning with Penguin; the small crime lord has made allusions towards eradicating Falcone loyalists. Oswald’s hostile take-over of territories has already earned Sophia’s attention.

_I’ll be damned if Oswald dies by anyone else’s hand but my own._

Victor’s motives for coming to Gotham were initially spurred on by his dark compulsion for Oswald, but he also intended on approaching Savelli about Sophia in hopes of zeroing on her secret informants within the families.

Zsasz returns his troubled gaze to Jim. His thoughts a mess over giving the detective too much leverage over Oswald.

_It’s the only thing I can offer so he’ll trust me._

Jim sighs; suddenly tired of the man’s cryptic silence.

“All right, _enough._  Get the hell out!”

Jim heads for the front door to open it.

Victor, frustrated with the situation, snatches Jim’s right forearm. He yanks the detective back towards him.

Jim’s gun falls out of his hand and skids across the living room floor.

The consequences of angering the scrappy brawler never crossed Victor’s mind till he sees the gun fly out of Jim’s grasps. His eyes snap back to the smaller man, widening with regret. The moment Jim turns on him and scowls— _teeth baring;_ Victor knows...

**_I..._ **

... **_Fucked_** _..._

... **_Up._ **

The detective’s anger is ignited. He grits his teeth and lands a hard left punch into Victor’s diaphragm before grabbing his shoulder and head butting him on the mouth. The grip on his arm relinquishes as Victor stumbles backwards.

Zsasz, barely able to breathe from the blow to his torso, staggers at the unexpected blow to his mouth. His hand on Jim’s arm flies off to clutch at his face, his other arm swings backward to brace himself from falling onto a small desk by a wall. He gasps and curses as he shakes off the two blows. He notices Jim sprinting into the living room. He dashes after the speedy detective as he searches for his fallen weapon. Victor jumps him; both men unceremoniously fall over the couch.

Jim grunts loudly at the tackle; Victor’s large frame knocks the wind out of him as they both tumble over his small leather sofa. Both men bounce off the cushions and land on the floor. Jim falls on his stomach with Victor landing on top of him, smothering him. He jabs a right elbow into Victor’s side earning a pained yelp, he clenches his teeth and snaps his head back smashing into Victor’s chin. He hears the surprised man yowl in pain.

”FUCK!”

Zsasz reels from the painful blows to his side and chin. Determined to not lose his ground, he lunges and wraps Jim tightly around the neck with one arm. He quickly reaches for his combat knife holstered on his belt and holds it to the detective’s face. He struggles to regain his lost breath. He leans his head against Jim’s; chuckling between gasps of breaths. He presses his lips to his ear.

“I _did_ mention the need for me to be on guard around you— _owwww!_ ”

He brings the point of the knife just under Jim’s right eye. The rush of adrenaline excites Victor; it’s been a long time since he’s had a invigorating fight. He examines his prize, defeated and subdued in the nook of his right arm, he purrs. He nuzzles into Jim’s hair; inhaling deeply of the man’s scent. The feel of the detective flush to his body sends a shiver of delight up his spine.

Jim gasps from lack of air. The fight in him completely dissipates when he feels the cold steel on a cheek. He barely registers that Victor said anything, but his attention is captured when the point of the knife is aimed just under his right eye.

Victor hisses through clenched teeth.

“Stop. Hittin’. Me. I have somethin’ to offer. So hear me out.”

Jim can feel himself getting light-headed and nods reluctantly.

Victor removes his arm from around Jim’s neck allowing the smaller man to breathe. He sits back on his heels, still straddling the prone man.

Jim gasps when the arm around his neck releases. He rests his forehead on the floor; spots fill his vision for a few seconds. After regaining his senses he turns his head to peer at Victor. The man still has his knife out; dark eyes watch him intently. There is a line of crimson running down the man’s chin from his split lip. The assassin’s smooth face crinkles with a troubled expression as heavy breathes expel from his swollen mouth. Victor appears to be toiling with a difficult decision. Jim, losing his patience, hisses angrily.

“Well?”

Victor’s eyes take in the flustered detective. The way his face flushes with blood, his arresting blue eyes as they lock onto him, the sexy way his voice sounds when he growls; it ignites Victor. He licks his lips and shifts his gaze away from Jim to get his mind straight. Despite the clenching in his gut, he decides to go ahead and go through with his offer. He blurts out.

“I can give you The Riddler.”

Jim furrows his brow and gawks at the straddling assassin. He tries his best to turn and face Zsasz, but the man’s weight is unmoving. His mind reels with Victor’s offer and all of its implications. Jim is taken off-guard; he retorts.

“You expect me to trust you?”

Victor lunges forward, supporting himself on his hands and knees, over Jim. His knife still in his left hand.

The detective stiffens, expecting to be attacked. When no blow comes he peers up. Victor’s head is tilted, his mouth hanging open as his eyes slowly roll down his body. He shivers just a tiny bit; the towering man’s gaze snaps back to his own. Jim finds himself caught in those deep dark pools; pinned down by nothing more than a look.

Victor’s eyes return to appreciating the detective’s fine form. Jim’s white shirt has shifted up, exposing his lower back. He eyes alight on a physical trait that he has always found attractive:  _Dimples of Venus_. Victor bites his lower lip. The urge to finger those soft indentations ushers a whimper from deep inside. Jim’s boxers have also shifted, bunching between his thighs and riding high, accentuating his pert ass. Victor shudders when he imagines himself balls deep in those round cheeks.

Jim is taken aback with how caught up Zsasz seems to be with his body. He quickly turns around to lay on his back. Victor’s gaze remains below; an approving moan emits from the gunman’s lips. Jim’s face burns hot from the lecherous assessment, but also from his own building excitement. He admits to himself that Zsasz is a very sexy man. His presence is, for the lack of a better word, _dangerous_. But it’s that danger and strange allure that has Jim caught up whenever the pale gunman is near. A deep ache begins to grow, stretching the fabric of his silk boxers. He repeats himself in hopes that Victor will snap out of it— _and that **he** will snap out of it _.

“You haven’t answered me. How can you expect me to trust you?”

Victor returns his gaze to the now supine man. Zsasz’s free hand quickly grabs Jim’s face as he leans in. He lowers his body onto the detective, smoothly inserting his right knee in between Jim’s legs. He draws his right leg up towards his hip, making the trapped man drape his left leg over his thigh. He notices Jim’s breath hitch ever so slightly, his face red and hot. The typical hard lawman expression softens as lips part; blue eyes remain locked with his own. Victor’s tone is soft and his words candid.

“When have I ever lied to you, Jim? But if you need further evidence… _then okay_. I was the anonymous caller that told you where to find Mario and Lee on their honeymoon.”

The detective shakes his head; the news comes as shock. The voice on the phone was masked, but even then, he would never have guessed Zsasz would be the one to inform him. He can feel Victor’s thumb begin to softly stroke his jawline. He questions.

“Why?“

Victor looks to the side, away from Jim, as the corners of his mouth pull down.

“I saw him, when he waited for you in the house; he wasn’t… _normal_. I wanted Mario killed before he lost his shit and Don Falcone had to witness him like _that_. The old man doesn’t deserve that kind of pain.”

Jim remembers the day that Victor came to warn him of Carmine’s hit and his remark about Mario.

“ _Also, nice shot on Mario… never liked him_.”

Jim clasps the wrist of the hand stroking his face and asks.

“That day you warned me of Falcone’s hit, was that to make up for setting me on Mario?”

Victor returns his gaze at Jim’s question; he sets his knife on the floor. He reaches out his fingers and threads them through Jim’s hair. He sighs at the soft feel of thick luscious waves wrapping around his fingers. His eyes roam Jim’s face; drinking in the way his skin flushes with his touch. He can feel Jim’s leg squeeze in ever so slightly, his heel pressing on the back of his thigh. His gaze travels down to Jim’s lips; his fingers grip down onto those soft golden locks. Jim’s brow furrows slightly; his body softly shifting under him.

_He’s so attractive; undone and breathless. Ready to yield to me._

The pale gunman tilts his head; his eyes follow his other hand as he keeps caressing Jim’s cheek.

“I warned you because I respect you, Jim.”

The two men stare at each other for a few moments. Jim can feel his skin break in goosebumps; his mind screams to end the encounter before it goes too far.

_Don’t you dare! He’s a criminal… a killer!_

His body, however, reacts to Victor’s proximity with feverish carnal need. The feel of his hand grasping his hair, the weight of his body on top of him, the feel of his panting breaths on his face; Jim’s engorged cock throbs with anticipation. He places both hands on Victor’s chest; he weakly tries to push the gunman away.

Zsasz inhales a sharp breath at the feel of Jim’s feeble resistance. His hands snatch the detective’s wrists and yanks the man’s arms out and above his head; pinning them to the floor. Without hesitation, he captures Jim’s mouth with his own. Victor moans as his lips contact Jim’s; the detective stiffens for a couple of seconds but soon melts.

Jim’s wrists are getting smashed onto the floor as the kisses start becoming aggressive. Victor’s mouth opens; his tongue begs to be let inside. Jim yields and opens wide; inviting him in. He shudders as their tongues begin wrestling each other. The assassin slips his other leg in between; a soft gasp escapes and muffles inside Victor’s hungry mouth. The larger man slots himself firmly against Jim’s body; expert lips render him hot and wanting.

_So sweet. So warm. God, he smells so good. Damn it all; just this once..._

Jim whimpers when Victor’s mouth pulls away but he soon feels him at his neck, biting and licking at his skin.

Victor latches onto Jim’s neck, his tongue swirls large circles to lap up as much of Jim’s flavor as it can. He pulls back every so slightly to savor the taste. He moans with delight and dives in, biting and sucking. His hips begin pumping against the smaller man as he licks and sucks with feverish abandon.

 _Fuck, he tastes like sunshine, honey, and_ **_sex_** _. Delicious._

Jim burns with urgent need; his cock jolts against Victor. As soon as the larger man starts thrusting; Jim lets loose a deep moan. The grip on his wrists tighten; Zsasz is grunting and growling. Then grip on his wrists quickly disappear; large hands grab at his ass. He feels his hips drawn in closer. Sharp teeth sink in deeper into his neck; Jim hisses. He wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders, bringing one hand to hold onto the smooth head. Jim’s panting breaths hitch with Victor’s aggressive thrusting.

The sound of Jim moaning and the feel of his arms around him drive him to madness. He reaches into Jim boxers and wraps his hand around the thick hot flesh. He pulls back to look at the unraveled man as he begins to stroke him.

Jim throws his head back when he feels a firm grip on his aching erection. His arms hold on tighter; Victor’s mouth begins nipping and lapping at his chin. He hears Victor groan.

“I want to feel you cum all over me.”

Jim utters through rapid breaths.

“Fuck…Victor! ”

Victor chuckles; he nuzzles Jim’s ear and growls.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Zsasz peels himself from Jim to sit up; his fingers nimbly work his buttons. He’s desperate to feel Jim against his skin.

Jim sits up to help Victor strip but hears a rude noise that slices through the mood; his work phone is ringing loudly in his bedroom. He grits his teeth and frowns; his clarity returning to him, similar to when he snapped out of Tetch’s hypnotism. The heat of the moment dissipates and in its wake all that is left is regret. He runs a hand down his face and glances at Victor but quickly looks away; he gruffs.

“Uh... I need to get that. You should go.”

Victor inhales a deep breath; it takes him a moment to regain function of his rational thinking. He frowns incredulously down at the smaller man; Jim is withdrawing from him. He is painfully aware of the detective’s discomfort; he then realizes that the moment between them is over. He grits his teeth, pissed with how quickly things turned. He strongly considers taking what he wants from Jim, but he knows that will result in flushing everything he is trying to accomplish down the toilet. Not to mention, possibly earning many broken bones and being hauled off to prison. Not willing to risk his good looks for heat of the moment passion, he dismisses the thought. He mumbles through his fustration.

“I’ll call you with details on gettin’ The Riddler.”

Jim quickly slides away and stands; Victor follows him to his feet. He nods once to acknowledge the assassin but quickly turns without another word. He wants to forget how he nearly gave into Zsasz.

Victor reaches out and stops the detective before he heads down the hallway.

“Jim, everything I told you is true. She means to go after the GCPD as a distraction.”

Victor reluctantly releases the detective; he wants him to understand that what happened between them isn’t over yet. He contemplates yanking the smaller man into his arms. It isn’t till he notices Jim’s refusal to look at him that his temper flares.

Jim looks off to the side and nods once. He’s a mess with what happened; unsure of what to say or how to process what the two of them did on the floor. He turns to leave again but feels a hard yank. Victor snarls.

“ _Look_ _at_ _me_ , _Jim_!”

Jim gasps and resists but once his eyes settles on Victor’s deep gaze, he surrenders. Swift arms envelope him in a tight embrace as soft lips claim his own; Jim melts. He reaches up and wraps one arm around Victor’s shoulder, returning his kiss. Jim’s body reacts to Victor once again; he moans.

After for a few moments Zsasz pulls away; he studies Jim for a moment before letting go.

_**Mine.** _

Jim tries to collect himself as he watches Victor bend down to retrieve his knife. The man then strides to the kitchen as he fixes his shirt. Jim hardens his jaw, unsure of how to react to anything in the moment. He pushes it all aside and hurries down the hallway to his bedroom.

The disheveled gunman approaches the stool to grab his gun holster, gloves, and coat. He glances down the hallway to see Jim disappear into his bedroom. He digs into his inside coat pocket and retrieves one of his cards and a pen. He writes on the back of the card and lays it on the island then promptly exits the apartment.

Jim retrieves his phone from the bedroom and sees that he missed a call from Harvey; he hears his front door open and close. He redials as he makes his way into the empty living room and into the kitchen. With the phone pressed to his ear, he walks up to the island to sip at his coffee. He notices a black card sitting beside Victor’s cup.

“Jim, hey. I know it’s your day off, but gonna need your help. Alvarez was shot, Harper’s with him right now. We have a body count out at a private estate; ten are dead.”

“Sure, no problem, Harvey. Give me a few to get dressed; I’ll call when I’m out the door.”

Jim picks up the card.

“Thanks buddy, talk to you in a bit.”

Jim closes his phone and studies the business card. It’s embossed with the letter “Z” in red along with a phone number. He turns the card and sees something written on the back. Jim holds the card to the sunlight and reads the message.

_Fuck Jim_

Below the message a smiley face.

Jim smirks for a brief second but wads the card and throws it in the garbage bin. He hurries to get ready.

 

 

— 卌 —

 

 

Victor sits in his car outside of Jim’s apartment and to read his text messages from Tash.

 

_Savelli and heads gone_

_Heard gunshots_

 

Another group of messages minutes later

 

_Sophia and men in house_

_Cops coming down the road_

_Sophia leaving house_

_Looks pissed_

_Her and her men are running away from cops_

 

Victor calls Tash.

“Boss.”

“There were gunshots before Sophia and her goons got to the house?”

“Yes, then three cars left the garage and took a dirt road off the property. Savelli was among the ones that left.”

“Are you able to see anything? The bodies that the cops are haulin’ out?”

“No. They’re covered.”

“Ok, stay there. I got a feelin’ Gordon is headed that way. Keep tail on him.”

“Yes, boss.”

Victor pulls out of his parking spot to head back to the Van Dahl mansion.

_I wonder if Savelli figured out Sophia’s informants within the families. Here I thought they were completely in the dark._

 

— J —

 

“We have phony records of who this estate belongs to, but seen as though it’s a bunch of Falcone cronies we ain’t ever gonna get a bead. Could be just a place for them to meet up, a safe house. Thing is, we got some anonymous call about a shoot-out. Alvarez and Harper were in the thick of tryin’ to run down the shooters, but Alvarez was struck. Harper’s with him at Gotham General now.

Jim furrows his brow when Harvey mentions an anonymous caller.

_Could Zsasz have called it in?_

Memories of the both of them on the floor feverishly making-out pop into his head. His body spikes with heat when he recalls Victor’s taste. Jim takes in a long silent breath as he gets his mind back to business.

Harvey raises an eyebrow when Jim looks deep in thought.

“You got an idea? Think it coulda been Penguin?”

Jim places his hands on his hips and looks around the spacious detached garage. He already went through the house and did a quick sweep. Jim shakes his head and squats down to look at the dead victims. Each took a bullet to the front of the head; they were on their knees.

“No, I don’t think it was Penguin and his men. They tend to be a bit more destructive… _showy._ I think these men knew their attackers. No forced entry in the house or the garage, no signs of struggle, no bruising to indicate restraints. Did Harper describe the shooters?”

Harvey nods. “They couldn’t get a good look by the time they got on the scene the shooters were in two cars making a get away. Harper said six men and maybe a woman.”

Jim’s gaze snaps to Harvey. “A woman?”

Harvey nods but sees that his old partner is coming to connection and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah… why?”

Jim returns his attention to the bodies on the floor and asks. “Do we have ID’s on these men? Do you know who they are in relation to Falcone capos?”

Harvey nods and says. “Just lowly rank and file but I recognize that one on the end. He’s runs a few warehouses out past The Narrows.”

Jim looks up at Harvey. “I think we should check out those warehouses.”

“Let’s go. You can tell me what you know in the car.”

Harvey exits the garage as Jim rushes after him.

“What makes you think I know anything?”

Harvey scoffs and grins at Jim.

“I can tell because you got that look in your eye.”

Jim chuckles and shakes his head at Harvey’s grin.

“You know me too well.”

“We’re like an old married couple. Damn right, I know you well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh there's the Gorzsasz :)
> 
> I tend to jump the gun with tags. Any how, WHOA! I really got ambitious with the plot. Had to get some perspective from my muggle husband. XD


	6. Tactile Sensations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fries finds a temporary cure. Oswald and Zsasz discuss a possible relationship. Jim, working on the information given to him, tries to convince Harvey to trust him.

 

— O —

 

Oswald watches on with great amusement as Fries scarfs down his final large portion of rakott krumpli, a Hungarian potato dish containing slices of sausage and bacon. Victor reaches for the service station to grab at a plate stacked with crepes. Sounds of delight and moaning reverberate deep from within the handsome man as he finishes chewing his large mouthful. He grasps the thin crepes with his hands and without pause commences to devour the stack.

“My, someone is a hungry man!”

Oswald chuckles as he gets up from a chair and pours a large glass of water; he holds it out to Victor.

Fries looks up from his plate, a flush of embarrassment settles across his face. He sets the plate next to him on the sofa and takes the offered water, downing half the glass. The clear cold fluid feels strange going down his esophagus, but at the same time it feels like home. The assessment gives him pause; he hastily places the glass on the service station and mumbles apologetically.

“Sorry. It’s been so long.”

Oswald shakes his head as he beams the thawed Freeze a large smile. His eyes take in the casually dressed man sitting on his couch. Victor never seemed one for tailored finery or various leather accoutrements and it’s evident by the ensemble he’s wearing. Fries’ simple tastes reflect that of the everyday man: dark jeans, black boots, and a long sleeve black tee shirt. Amazingly enough, the man came into his office wearing a lightweight flight jacket that now sits draped over the armrest of his Victorian sofa.

Victor’s physical appearance remains that of the stunning, _platinum god of winter_. His hair remains stark white, but the spikes are relaxed and upturned into soft waves and curls that hug and caress the man’s temple and neck. His eyes also remain silvery, but the unnatural light in them seems extinguished giving the man a more human look. The typical stiff and cold demeanor gone along with his unusual frozen malady; both traits temporarily halted for the time being.

“No need to apologize. If I were kept from enjoying my favorite Hungarian dishes I imagine my reaction would be the same.”

Fries glances up and nods. His eyes keep settling on the scarf around Oswald’s neck. Even though the temperatures outside are chilly, the mansion is blistering hot. He knows the small man is covering the evidence of Zsasz’s attack. The black chiffon wrap is meant to conceal the wounds, but it only makes them all the more obvious.

Victor quickly turns his gaze away. His stomach begins to complain; there’s a sick ache. The food feels thick and heavy inside of him; there’s an accompanying warmth that isn’t all too pleasant. That’s when he notices the slick and greasy feel on his hands and fingers. He snatches a cloth napkin from the service station and aggressively tackles the slimy presence. He has forgotten the tactile sensations that accompany his long forgotten warmth, the unsettling feel of sticky, wet, and oily. The way these states coat his fingers and hands enhance the growing nausea from having ingested the meal all too quickly. He feels the heavy oils on his mouth and chin; he fiercely wipes at his face. His thoughts linger over last night and when he approached Oswald that morning.

_Why would Oswald accept that pervert’s behavior? He won’t acknowledge what that man did as anything but being amorous._

He spoken with the kingpin during breakfast about what happened last night. Oswald had dismissed his concerns with an uncharacteristic flippant attitude.

_He said he asked Zsasz to kiss him. Okay, but what he did wasn’t kissing. Zsasz looked as though I caught him in the middle of taking advantage of Oswald’s passed out state._

Fries frowns as he vigorously keeps wiping, his stomach churns hard. He hears Oswald clear his throat.

“Victor?”

Fries looks up at the small man and smiles. He grabs the plate of crepes and stands. He places the plate and napkin on the service station as he states.

“I hope to receive the parts for the tubing in a day or two. I kept the main floor flooded with coolant to keep from fluctuating temperatures. It would ruin what you have installed so far. It shouldn’t delay opening night.”

Oswald nods; his eyes unable to tear away from the tacky casual clothing that snugs tightly around Victor’s large build. He brings his right hand under his chin as he studies the man’s frame. He can see Fries in tailored casual dress: a single button jacket, cashmere sweater, dark denim or light weight slacks. He would pair the ensemble with suede Oxford flats in various colors. He nods his head as he purses his lips in deep thought.

_A stunning man such as Fries should be in the best clothing that Gotham has to offer._

Fries regards the smaller man with a small smirk and an uncomfortable expression.

“Oswald, what is it?”

 

— 卌 —

 

Zsasz hurries into the mansion. He meets with Xochilt and Demaris as they approach him from Oswald’s door. Victor informs them that Tash and Ursula are keeping tail on Jim Gordon.

“You two work out a schedule between yourselves for Penguin’s detail.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The two girls offer each other large grins from ear to ear; this doesn’t go unnoticed. Zsasz, having had an early and disappointing morning, finds his humor and patience gone. He hardens his face and questions.

“What is it?”

Demaris quickly loses her smile and offers apologetically.

“Sorry, Boss. It’s just that Victor Fries is walking around like a normal guy— _no suit, no ice_! He’s in Penguin’s office right now.”

Zsasz relents his admonishing expression and snaps his gaze towards Oswald’s doors. He waves the girls off and quickly heads over. He can hear Oswald:

“Victor, is there anything you need since you’re free of your suit? A new wardrobe perhaps? I imagine the simple drab garb you’ve adorned yourself in serves a purpose but you look like a Narrow’s beggar.”

Zsasz opens the office doors and slips in unnoticed. He watches from the threshold, Freeze’s form casts a breathtaking silhouette in front of the roaring fireplace.

Fries looks down at his clothes; he shakes his head and chuckles.

“I don’t think I look quite that disheveled. Why do I get the feeling you want to dress me up?”

Oswald blushes, just realizing how incredibly forward he may have seemed with the offer.

_Edward was so easy to tend to. He allowed me to shower him with praise and gifts. I forget normal people have a problem with this. But Fries isn’t a normal man._

Zsasz pipes in as he stalks towards them.

“Well, you do come off… as… a… play… _thing_.”

Fries and Oswald turn to regard Zsasz. The assassin flashes his teeth as he blatantly takes an eyeful of Fries. His gaze then snaps towards Oswald, he raises an eyebrow at the scarf around the man’s neck.

Oswald shuffles a couple of steps away from Fries; his face flashes red hot. He shyly glances at Zsasz, but quickly looks away. His right hand absently grabs at his scarf and pulls it tighter around his neck.

Fries scowls at Zsasz as the man approaches him from behind. Those unblinking eyes begin to travel unabashedly all over his body; his unsettling grin widening into impossible lengths.

Oswald watches on as Zsasz circles Fries. The taller man’s temper quickly igniting as his silvery eyes follow the silent man; his chiseled jaw hardens as his white brow furrows. Fries turns his body to square up on Zsasz; ready to attack the pale gunman if he gets too close.

Zsasz sucks his teeth at the obvious defensive posturing. He coquettishly eyes Fries as he goes to stand behind Oswald. The kingpin quickly returns to the subject at hand.

“Fries, allow me to get you in with my tailor, get you fitted for clothing the best suits you.”

Fries’s gaze shifts between Oswald and Zsasz. The small crime lord appears uncomfortable and disappointed with the interruption as he does his best to keep his attention on him. Fries offers stiffly.

“No, it’s okay. I have some personal errands to run. See you tonight.”

Fries turns to leave. He glances back when he reaches the doors. Zsasz is slithering up to the smaller man; his gloved hand reaching up towards the black scarf; his gaze locks onto him. The pale enforcer smirks and pulls the fabric off in a quick motion. Oswald quickly turns on him. Fries makes a hasty exit through the doors, leaving the two alone.

Oswald whips around on Zsasz when he feels the scarf yanked away. He wants to reprimand his enforcer for the action, but finds himself surprisingly cowed by Victor’s hard gaze.

Victor turns his attention to Oswald; he slowly cranes his neck to face him. His eyes large and unblinking; his teeth clenching hard as he seethes. He is keenly aware that Oswald is bit taken with Freeze. He couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in those pale green eyes or how brightly his smile beamed when looking at the _other Victor_. Now that this _freak_ is walking around as a normal man, Zsasz realizes that he may have competition.

_I won’t allow Fries to claim what is mine._

He notices Oswald blushing, his posture recoiling into a timid stance. Satisfied that his hardened glare made a point, he turns, dismissing the imploring gaze from the small kingpin. He heads towards the large ebony desk and leans against the edged surface.

Oswald blinks when the assassin’s looming form turns and saunters away. He catches a whiff Victor’s intoxicating scent in his wake. Oswald clears his throat; he is anxious to address their intimacy from last night. He follows the retreating enforcer and halts a few steps away from the reclining man. Victor begins digging into his pockets, pulling out a cloth. Oswald feels his nerve lessening; his right hand reaches up to touch the exposed bite wounds.

Victor retrieves a small knife and begins cleaning the blade, ignoring Oswald’s clingy presence. He knows the man wants to talk about what happened last night. He finds this side of Oswald’s personality a chore— _exhausting_.

Oswald takes a couple of steps closer. He watches on as Victor troubles himself with the tedious task of cleaning his weapon. He had hoped that Victor would make the first attempt at conversation, but Oswald realizes how futile that is. Zsasz has never been one for deep discussions and waiting for him to start now only makes him feel the fool. He bites his lower lip as his mood turns sour with each silent second; it infuriates him.

_Since Zsasz’s returned, he has constantly been in my personal space. Always watching me… even touching me. And now... it seems he wants nothing to do with me. What happened? Is he disappointed with what we did last night?_

Victor glances over at Oswald and raises an eyebrow. The small man looks to be put-out and growing more agitated. A questioning gaze flashes back at him as the diminutive kingpin shuffles on his feet.

Oswald shakes his head and steels himself. He takes a sharp breath in and blurts out in haste.

“Zsasz, we should discuss what we did last night. I think… “

Oswald feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He lets out a large sigh as he rolls his eyes at the interruption. He holds up a finger and digs into his jacket retrieving the annoying device.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Penguin, it’s Carmine Falcone.”

Oswald’s eyes widen; he whips his gaze back to Victor. Zsasz raises an eyebrow and straightens himself at the kingpin’s surprised expression.

“Carmine.”

Zsasz sheaths his blade and quickly closes in. He takes Oswald’s face into a hand and leans in, pressing his own ear to the phone. Carmine continues without prompting.

“I will spare you the run around and get to it. I was wondering if you seen Victor Zsasz?”

Oswald swallows nervously. His whole body is burning red hot from Victor’s touch and proximity, also Don Falcone’s unexpected call tantalizes him. Getting caught with Victor sends a delicious thrill throughout his body, much like taking something that doesn’t belong to him. He beams a large grin as he retorts.

“I’m delighted to hear from you old friend, but alas, I have no idea where he is.”

Oswald can feel Victor shift, the hand on his face grips down a bit firmer. He can feel a thumb stroke the side of his cheek as Victor’s smooth head presses in closer.

Carmine scoffs. “I see. Well if you do happen upon him and whatever master he serves now, relay a message to him.

Zsasz frowns, his body tenses up. The grip on Oswald’s face clamps down harder.

“Tell him: _Chi tutto violence nulls stringe e di rabbia muore_.”

Zsasz relinquishes his grip on Oswald and quickly walks away.

_Carmine means to come here. He’ll punish me greatly for disobeyin’ him and takin’ this kill away from me would do just that._

Victor’s hands begin balling into fists; his head hangs low. He keeps his back towards Oswald so the small man can’t see the look of concern on his face.

Oswald keeps his eyes on Victor as he responds haughtily.

“And do pray tell, what does that mean?”

“ _He who wants everything, gets nothing, and then dies of rage._ Goodbye, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald snaps his phone closed and glares at Victor’s back. He snarls under his breath.

“You brought this unto me. You will fix this!”

Zsasz grits his teeth and responds flatly.

“I will, boss.”

Oswald’s hardened expression remains on Victor. He awaits something… _anything_ … from the silent man, but no information comes. He questions with a cutting tongue.

“Why do you keep serving that _old_ man? Seems to me he holds you back. What good does it do you to _rot_ and _wither_ away watching a _decrepit_ old fool farm?”

Zsasz turns to look at Oswald; his eyes narrowing. He knows the kingpin is jealous of Falcone and only hurls insults to get a rise. Despite knowing this, Zsasz can feel his ire pricked hearing him insult Carmine. He shrugs, offering no explanation to the angry little bird.

Oswald’s scowl deepens. He juts out his chin as his muscles tense. His shoulders slowly rise to his ears as his breathing begins to accelerate. He continues as his voice drips with contempt.

“Fine! Leave then! It would be a blessing if you went back to him! I don’t need you!”

Zsasz closes in on Oswald as a small grin begins to form. He always gets a kick out of how quickly the small man angers. Those green eyes sear right through him as thick dramatic eyebrows dip perfectly into the most intense scowl. He plants himself directly in front of the ruffled man. He tilts his head as he brings a gloved hand to rub under his own chin; his gaze rests on the angry bite marks. He clucks his tongue.

“You may not need me, but I know you… _want me_ … boss.”

Oswald’s expression falters for just a second but it’s all that Victor needs. Zsasz removes a glove and reaches out to Oswald’s neck.

Oswald flinches as pale white fingers reach out to him. His gaze locks with Victor’s and he finds himself caught in those impossibly dark pools. Soft fingertips stroke around the wounds as eyes, dark as the abyss, shift to follow the movements. Oswald shivers with the light touch.

Victor studies the depth of his bites; there are three distinct bruises with one set of deep indentations. The clear concave bows frame an angry purplish blue hemorrhage while the other two bites left shallow yet noticeable parallel small abrasions left by his incisors.

_You let me and see what you got._

Zsasz feels the stir. The thing in him awakens at the promise of another opportunity to claim the lithe man. His fingers slowly travels Oswald’s delicate jawline then to his adam’s apple before tracing downward to his collar and tie.

_All those near deaths and horrible failures and yet… here you stand. I can see you on openin’ night of your club, struttin’ around in one of your finest suits. You’ll add a lil’ flourish as homage to Fish Mooney, somethin’ with feathers and maybe a dash of color. Your beautiful face painted so when you peer into the mirror it reminds you of your long gone mistress. You’ll be waitin’ for when the night is done; perhaps waitin’ my touch. Then I’ll lure you away… do what no one has been able to do: kill you, little umbrella boy._

Zsasz grabs the back of the Oswald’s neck and pulls him in.

Oswald nervously shifts, a verbal reprimand begins to form, but stifles before exiting his open mouth. He mentally curses his lack of resistance despite Victor’s shameless arrogance.

Victor leans in, but stops a hair width away from Oswald’s parted lips. He inhales deeply of his breath.

Oswald’s body shakes with anticipation of those lips on his own. He then notices the swollen and bruised state of Victor’s mouth and chin. His eyes roam the smooth surface of the assassin’s face to discern any other damage to his perfect features.

“Why are there bruises on your face? Were you in a fight?”

Victor quirks an eyebrow in confusion, but then remembers the tussle with the detective. He smirks as he mentions. “Yeah, me and Jim got into it this morn’.”

Oswald blinks at the simple yet startling statement. He decides to discontinue the questioning in fear of pouring cold water on the moment. He reaches up and places both hands on the taller man’s shoulders. His gaze locks onto Victor’s perfect Cupid’s Bow as those thick lips begin parting. Victor’s warm puffs of breath hit his face; he’s ensconced in sweet peppermint. It mingles with the rich heady scent of leather, high notes of copper, and pungent gun oil. There’s another scent that makes itself known before it's gone, much like a firefly in the night. It’s elusive but assuredly there; it’s Jim’s. He takes a long breath in and sighs.

_I would love to bottle his scent and spread it all over my bedroom._

He feels Victor’s other arm snake around his waist, drawing him closer. Oswald wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders and without another thought joins their two mouths in a soft kiss.

Zsasz pulls the man in tighter; his tongue implores to be let in as he pries at Oswald’s mouth. The hand on the back of the small kingpin’s neck, threads through perfectly coiffed raven locks. His kisses become heated… _urgent_. He forces his tongue into the apprehensive mouth.

Oswald, overwhelmed with the aggressive kissing, begins to squirm in Victor’s embrace. Unsure of how to proceed or what exactly to do, he releases his arms from Zsasz and places the palm of his hands on the man’s chest. Victor’s tongue keeps probing and swiping the inside of his mouth. Oswald tries to push Victor, to tear his mouth from his. He can feel the assassin’s embrace tighten around his waist as the hand in his hair grips down a bit firmer. Oswald turns his head and pulls away from the kiss; he stammers out shakily.

“C-can we not do that? I find it challenging enough k-keeping up with you. This is only my second time... kissing… and… uh… “

Victor hears Oswald say something but he isn’t paying attention to the words; his focus is entirely on those turned-away lips. He growls as he clenches his hand into a fist, yanking the mop of black hair. He forces Oswald to face him; he flashes his teeth in amusement when the man squeaks out in pain.

Oswald flinches and gasps when his head is pulled back. His eyes shut tight at the stinging pain; he feels Victor’s mouth on his once again. Teeth and tongue scrape and lap at his swollen mouth as the hand in his hair keeps pulling tighter. Oswald begins struggling to break free of Victor. He reaches for the hand in his hair and tries to turn his face again. He cries out when he manages to unlatch Zsasz from his mouth.

“Stop it!”

Victor blinks as he reluctantly pulls back. His teeth are clenching hard; there’s a dull ache forming in his jaw muscles. He inhales a sharp breath willing himself to calm down. His eyes dart all over Oswald’s face; he finally registers he’s hurting the smaller man. Zsasz’s body teems with energy; the look of fear and panic excites him. His cock already at full attention, having not fully settled after his morning with Jim. His erection presses hard against his slacks, he’s sure Oswald can feel his length. It throbs a couple of times against the small kingpin’s abdomen.

Victor notices Oswald’s discomfort as shocked eyes glance down really quick. The smaller man quickly looks away, horrified. He releases the hair from his hand but tightens his arm around the petite waist. His cock throbs again; Oswald recoils as much as he can at the sensation. Victor brings his free hand to stroke those hot freckled cheeks. He offers a little white lie to calm the flustered man.

“Sorry. It’s hard for me to control my excitement. I waited so long for you to look at me the way you looked at Nygma.”

Victor blinks as the corners of his mouth pull down to really sell it. He lowers his gaze when Oswald turns his head to face him again.

Oswald furrows his brow and shakes his head; his eyes search Victor’s face as he utters. “How long?”

Victor locks eyes with him as a sly smirk develops. He knows he has Oswald where he wants him. He could never touch him again and the little bird would pine away after him till it’s time to collect.

“I think you know.”

Oswald swallows and shakes his head again; unable to form the words. Victor says it for him.

“Since the first day I saw you.“

Oswald’s eyes grow wider then softer; a pool of tears collect before falling slowly down his cheeks. He whispers. “Why did you wait so long?”

Victor smiles at how beautiful the normally strong and defiant man looks as he crumbles. He wipes one tear away on Oswald’s cheek and shrugs.

“We both had our bosses to serve. What good would it do to get so caught up? It never seemed like the right time. Ya, know?”

Oswald nods as more tears spill. “Yes, of course. Is… is the time right now? It feels like it is.”

Large glistening eyes gaze back at him, imploring for confirmation. Victor leans in and laps up a large tear spilling over. He purrs and softly kisses the trembling man. He pulls back and shrugs; eyes narrowing.

“Only if you want it to be… _Oswald_.”

Oswald smiles when he hears his name and not “ _boss_ ” coming from Zsasz’s lips. He lets out a small chuckle as he nods. “I do.”

Victor leans in and kisses Oswald’s forehead then releases him. He smiles as he looks him up and down.

_Now to get him to eagerly come to his death._

“Maybe after the grand openin’ of the Iceberg Lounge we can discuss this more in-depth when we’re completely… **_alone_**. Maybe…   _ **celebrate**_ … together at my place? I know you have a lot on your plate right now; I don’t wanna distract you.”

Oswald gapes at Victor, but quickly nods and agrees.

“Grand opening is a little over a week away and I’m terribly busy even with Ivy’s and Fries’s help. I would love to give you my complete focus and… I… I would love time _alone_ with you.”

Oswald blushes brightly at the confession.

Victor nods as his eyes narrow; a sharp toothed grin emerges. He adds.

“Great. I’ll make us dinner and grab your favorite wine from Castello Luna; the one off the main strip.”

Oswald panics; the disastrous night he was to confess his love to Edward pops into his head. The love of his life meeting that woman in the very wine shop Victor mentioned; that shop that derailed everything. Then all the horrendous turn of events that soon followed. Oswald blurts out as he reaches for Victor’s coat lapels and clings tightly.

“NO!”

Victor raises an eyebrow and replies. “Okay, from somewhere else then?”

Oswald shakes his head and bites his lower lip before replying. “I will bring the wine it’s the least I can do if you are cooking.”

Victor examines the small man. There is a tensness about him that seems to only get worse. Oswald looks deep in thought as if he is reliving a bad memory. He grasps Oswald’s wrists and drawls warmly.

“Hey, whatever you want. I just wanna make you happy.”

Oswald peers back at him, his expression soft. There is a lingering note of sadness in the back of his mind. He wants to grasp on tightly to what is happening between him and Zsasz, but there is a pervading fear that it’s all too good to be true and that it will be cruelly taken from him. He fears he would not survive another heartbreak, especially now when he’s finally healing from Edward. He knows how naive he is when it comes to matters of the heart. The one thing he isn’t blind to, is the kind of man that Victor is. He’s spent years with the assassin and knows that Victor bores easily; he’s detached and distant. There’s a lingering doubt that the both of them are in any way compatible, but he‘s willing to take the time to work on it.

“Forgive me for being such a wreck.”

Victor can feel the knuckles of his right hand strain against the leather of his glove. His jaw aches; he blinks and relaxes his facial muscles. He takes a breath in.

_He’s so desperate; he would cling to me like a lovestruck fool while I remove his guts and ram my blade deep into his heart._

“I think I’ve seen it all so not much takes… “

Victor blinks when he is taken off guard by Oswald’s contorting face. The small man comes into him and wraps his arms around him; that tear-stained face burying deep into his chest. Victor blinks again as his brow furrows. He looks down at the mess of raven locks as Oswald speaks.

“I’m glad you are in my life. I wanted to tell you before, that first night you returned. I was sure you would think I was insincere. I know I drive people away but you… _you always come back_. I wanted to say, I noticed.”

Victor swallows and cautiously embraces the small man. Oswald pulls back from his chest and peers up, face red and eyes puffy from unrelenting tears. Victor finds for the first time in his life unable to control his expressions; he gawks as Oswald’s words settle deep into his mind. He composes himself and retorts.

“You might wanna hold that thought. It’s almost like you forget how often I piss you off.”

Oswald chuckles. “You always take my fits in your usual stride.”

Oswald pulls away and wipes his face. He shakes his head and remembers a detail he needed Victor to attend to.

“I almost forgot, Freeze will be away from the lounge for a day or two. I will need an additional guard detail there till he returns.”

Victor nods once; his mind back on his own agenda. He thinks a moment and replies. “I know I have two guards there now. It’ll be tomorrow night before I can get ‘nother detail in there.”

Oswald shakes his head and replies. “No, Victor. I need them there tonight. What about your women? Just until you get another set there tomorrow night?”

Victor presses his lips tight and nods. “I have two girls on Jim. I’ll pull them back and have them return to the lounge.”

 

— J —

 

Harvey’s and Jim’s drive to the warehouse district:

Jim is deep in thought over the morning events at his apartment. Zsasz’s words and demeanor were strange for the normally confident hitman. A clear memory manifests of Victor on top of him, of his crushing lips and fervent thrusting. Jim shifts in his seat when his body responds to the recollected sensations. He can still taste Zsasz on his lips and smell him on his body. He swallows and peers over at Harvey as they speed down the highway.

“So what’s this large hunch or lead you have?”

Jim gets his mind back on more important matters and asks. “Do you know if Carmine has a daughter?”

Harvey nods as he keeps his focus on traffic up ahead. “Yeah, never seen her though. So, you think that woman that Harper mentioned is Falcone’s daughter?”

Jim nods and replies. “It’s a strong possibility.”

“Why or how did you come up to that conclusion?”

“I have a lead. I was approached by this contact who told me about Sofia Falcone. She’s here to start a war with Penguin and that she’s coming after the GCPD as a distraction.”

Harvey glances over at Jim with an incredulous look before turning back to the road.

“Whoa! What? Who’s this contact of yours that has that kinda intel?”

Jim looks at Harvey and shakes his head. “It’s going to sound crazy if I told you who it is. I don’t want to start an investigation till we have a little more solid lead on who killed those men in that house and shot at Harper and Alvarez.”

Harvey shakes his head and gruffs. “See? This right here is how you end up in hot water! Not givin’ me all the details of what you know.”

Jim grins at Harvey. He’s about to retort when he feels his phone vibrate. He takes it out and sees an unknown number flash.

“This is Detective Gordon.”

“Jim, you don’t have much time. The lounge is a sittin’ duck right now. Freeze isn’t there and only two guards are watchin’ the place.”

Jim looks over at Harvey and replies. “Go on.”

“I’ll text you info for gettin’ in.” Zsasz ends the call. Jim looks over at Harvey; the GCPD Captain is returning the glance.

“Let me guess— _your informant_?”

Jim clenches his jaw and nods.

“Jim, this maybe just a crazy assumption but maybe… _just maybe_ … this informant is leading you on a wild goose chase.”

“I have my suspicions but he’s giving us The Riddler.”

Harvey snaps his gaze back at Jim; his mouth agape and his brow furrowed in wild disbelief. A car leaps into his lane nearly causing a collision. Harvey swerves into another lane and blares his horn. He grits his teeth and catches his breath. He gruffs.

“Who is this guy that he can give us Edward?”

Jim inhales a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He hears a text drop in.

 

_Side entrance-propped open_

_Hallway past the main bar_

_Elevator to basement level_

_Bring a van, Riddler on ice_

_You have two hours_

_Do not respond to this number_

_It’s a throw away_

 

 

He looks at the information then back at Harvey. “Victor Zsasz.”

Harvey guffaws and glances over at Jim. “Are you serious? Now why the da hell would Zsasz give us The Riddler? Ain’t he back with Penguin?”

“He wants us to stop Sofia Falcone and I only agreed to look into it if what he said was indeed true, that she is going to target the GCPD as a distraction. He said he will hand us Edward as a sign of good faith. I know how it all sounds and I believe there is more to this that his isn’t telling me. Harvey, I think I trust him on this.”

“Well I don’t! Are you insane?”

“Maybe. Look you don’t have to believe him but trust me. You and I need to head to GCPD motorpool and get a large van. We need to get Edward… _right now_. Once we have Edward we need to find Sofia Falcone and bring her in for questioning.”

Harvey looks at Jim but relents and nods.

“Ok, but if I get shot at or captured in an ambush I’m gonna give you a big fat _I told you so_.”

“Fair enough.”

 

— S —

 

“The detective, GCPD Captain and another cop are in a large van. They are headed towards the east side.”

“Hmm. Perfect. I’m certain they are headed to Penguin’s lounge.”

Sofia ends the call when one of her men approach her.

“Boss, Nick isn’t answering his phone. Hasn’t been for the last two hours.”

Sofia grits her teeth and purses her lips. Nick was her last informant within her father’s camp that was keeping track of Zsasz. He followed the assassin back to Gotham to keep tabs on him for Sofia.

She dials out.

“Ms. Falcone.”

“Lazlo, are you in place?”

“Why, I’m in town now. I have my first set of little piggies all lined up.”

“Good, I will call when I am done on my end.”

“Toodles.”

 

— 卌 —

 

Victor strides into the empty garage tucked behind the mansion at the end of the cobblestone driveway. His girls Xochilt and Ursula are there with a captive they stuffed into the trunk of his Imperial.

“Ladies, go ahead and bring out my tail.”

Ursula and Xochilt open the trunk and grab the bound man by the upper arms and dump him on the ground. Victor threads his thumbs through his gun holster and offers a chummy grin.

“Hi there! Nicola, or do you prefer Nick?”

The boy struggles pathetically in his binds as spittle drips from his gag; his face sweaty and bruised. He blubbers incoherently as he peers up at Victor.

Zsasz squats near the young man as he takes him in. The boy barely looks to be out of school, his features are dark and his hair thick and black. Nicola works for Carmine’s groundskeeper. He’s seen the boy diligently working the gardens; the youth always kept a shifty gaze whenever Victor came and went from Carmine’s home.

Zsasz reaches out and takes the boy’s gag out.

“I knew you were tailin’ me. I was countin’ on it. Because of this, Sofia panicked and came to Gotham earlier than she woulda liked. All to issue me a threat, to get me to kill Penguin so she didn’t have to wage a war she isn’t prepared for.”

The young man, barely twenty years of age, stammers out.

“Pl… pl… please don’t kill me. I only did it be… be… because I needed the money to take care of my grandmother.”

The young man continues to weep and beg.

Victor looks up at his girls and places his hand over his heart; the girls offer two large grins. His face in mock expression of sadness as he returns his gaze back to the boy. He wipes two non-existent tears and pats Nick on the back.

“Oh of course, dear sweet grandmother. Well, can’t have her suffer because her grandson is a moron. If you promise to never follow me again and tell me what Sofia knows, I’ll let you go. Easy peasy. Right?”

Nick nods and quickly replies.

“Yes! I promise! Please, I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

The boy takes a second to catch his breath and continues.

“Sofia, she knows you went to Detective Jim Gordon’s apartment. I told her. I was listening in with some equipment she gave me. I told her about your conversation with the detective. She knows about The Riddler! That’s all! I swear!”

Large frightened eyes gaze up at Victor. The assassin loses his breezy demeanor when he hears that Sofia knows about his conversation with Gordon.

_Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!_

The assassin quickly stands and looks at his girls. He nods at Xochilt to set the boy free. Ursula peers over at Victor and secretly hands him one of her throwing knives. The boy, Nicola, shakily stands after being freed and glances over at Victor.

“I… I… can go?”

Victor nods towards the exit to the garage. The young man quickly turns and runs. Victor smiles broadly and flings the knife at the retreating form, striking Nicola in the back of the neck. Bright crimson blood jettisons from the man as he goes down.

Nicola screams and clutches at the protruding knife. Victor looks at Ursula and scrunches his face in disappointment. He clucks his tongue and states with dismay.

“Still need to work on my precision, _damn_.”

“Your full rotation throws are worlds better these days, boss.”

Victor removes his large serrated Bowie knife from its holster on his belt. He makes his way towards the flailing man. The boy weakly croaks out.

“You said you would let me go.”

“I said I’d set you free, I never said I wouldn’t kill you.”

Victor kicks the boy onto his back then grabs his knife with both hands and lunges downward. The knife plunges past flesh and bone and into the boy’s heart. He looks back at his women and quickly states.

“Ladies, dispose of this in my furnace. Ursula, keys to your bike. Now, please.”

Victor remains squatting over the dying man as he holds out his hand. Ursula digs into her jacket and hands Victor a small set of keys.

Victor yanks out his blade. The sound of flesh, bone, and cartilage giving way to the serrated edges of his blade are like music to his ears. It’s thick, loud, and wet. A final death gurgle issues from the dead boy’s lips. Victor chuckles but his mirth is cut short as a gush of warm blood hits him in the face and drenches his chest. He rises as he presses his lips tightly together, flinging the excess blood and bits of flesh off his blade. He quickly wipes his face with a coat sleeve as he rushes to Ursula’s Yamaha. He mounts the bike and attempts to call Jim from his personal phone. He chants under his breath.

“Come on, Jim. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”

When the phone call goes to voicemail he starts the motorcycle and speeds out of the garage and off the Val Dahl estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been on hold for awhile. I had one of my favorite people come visit me for a week then I had to play catch up with chores when she left. So all apologies on the delayed installment.
> 
> I think the heart to heart with Oswald has Victor shook! Don’t get it twisted tho, Victor has a reputation to uphold as a sadistic serial killer. :o)
> 
> I find it amusing that Oswald is blissfully unaware of all this undercurrent happening underneath his nose. He’s too busy sweatin’ Zsasz.
> 
> ~FC


	7. The Falcone Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Victor discovers that Sophia knows about The Riddler, he races to warn Jim.

— S —

 

_“You embarrass me acting like an intolerant and spiteful child. Impudent and impetuous, I have no use for either traits.”_

_Sofia shuffles on her feet as she stares out the window. She was in attendance in her father’s study when he pulled Victor close and addressed the room. It was a cozy ceremony; her father’s trusted men all gathered to watch as her father bestowed a family heirloom unto the orphan boy. The simple silver ring had but one detail on it, an inscription that read:_ **_Falcone_** _. I_ _t belonged to her grandfather and his father before that._

_Victor looked directly at her, a smug smile tugged at his lips as her father spoke to the room. Her father’s chest puffed out, his voice full of pride as he boasted the accomplishments of the newest addition to the Falcone family business._

_She stormed out of the study and raced to her private quarters. She found a boxcutter laying on the floor; the servants accidently left it after unpacking her belongings. She hurried out; her knuckles straining as her fingers gripped the improv weapon tightly. Her mind seethed with spilling Victor’s blood._

_She marched down to the foyer of their summer mansion. Victor was standing by the front doors, admiring the_ **_stolen_ ** _token of her father’s admiration. She still savors the look of surprise as she charged and slashed at Victor’s hand; the cut was deep. That was the only hit she’d been able to land on him. The boy was fast and nimble. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it backwards as his grip clamped down forcing her to release the boxcutter. She tried to punch Victor in the face but her attack was weak and ineffectual. Victor grabbed her in mid strike; twisting her hand roughly. The look on his face infuriatingly calm; his eyes dark and deadly._

_Her father watched from the hallway and said nothing when Zsasz threw her to the ground. It’s only when she got up to retaliate that he intervened._

_She hates this boy… this…_ ** _charity case._** _Who_ _seems to win her father’s favor all too often. She isn’t given privy to the inner workings of the Falcone empire, no matter how much she begs._

_“Why is he being groomed for something that should be my right? He isn’t blood! Mario doesn’t want to follow in your footsteps but I do!”_

_Carmine shakes his head and gruffs._

_“Then earn my respect honorably. Throwing tantrums and disobeying me will only serve to work against you. Sofia, look at me.”_

_Sofia swallows and turns her head, chin held high in the air as her lips pursed together tightly._

_“If you ever harm or set Zsasz up for failure, I will exile you far from the family. If I discover you are the cause for him disappearing or his death, exile will seem like the kindest punishment.”_

“Sofia?”

Sofia snaps out of a memory and turns her head to look out the passenger side window. The three capos deserters look at her, waiting for an answer.

“You asked why I didn’t have Victor executed on the road. I have my reasons. Besides, if it wasn’t for the fact I allowed him to live; would we be in such a position as we are now? Detective Jim Gordon is going to hand us the leverage we need. Before Nicola disappeared, he had been spying in on them with the long range listening gear I provided. Apparently, this Riddler is very important to Penguin.”

They watch as the GCPD detective and captain subdue the two perimeter guards. The captain then runs down the alley and waves at someone just out of sight. A van pulls into the narrow space backend first and stops at the open door.

Sofia smiles at the three men.

“Let the GCPD do the heavy lifting. Get in position to claim the vehicle and our prize.

 

— 卌 —

 

Victor weaves in and out of traffic, but soon finds the pace of the vehicles ahead come to a dead stop. He grits his teeth and watches as the bascule bridge up head splits, rising to allow for canal traffic. He curses loudly and tries to call out to Jim again, but still no answer comes from the detective’s end.

He looks behind him and finds that traffic is backed up. His mind begins formulating another route towards the lounge but he knows he still has to cross the canal to get towards east of Gotham. Also, he would hit horrible traffic and too many lights. He slumps on the bike and continues to call Jim as he waits.

Victor’s face screws into a sour expression; he mentally berates himself for not shooting Sofia when he had the chance. He could have easily taken out her men.

He huffs through his nose and sucks his teeth in annoyance. The one thing he can not, and will not do, is raise his weapons against a Falcone. He rubs his chin and waits for the bridge to lower again.

 

— 卌 —

 

_Victor is in the kitchen cleaning the wound Sophia cut into the palm of his left hand. The slice stings as it drips large steady droplets of sanguine fluid down the sink. He runs cold water over it to flush it out._

_Sofia caught him unaware as he was busy admiring the gifted silver ring on his index finger._

_Victor’s smooth features contort in a look of frustration, feeling completely at fault for not keeping a better eye out for her. He hears footsteps coming down the hall towards the kitchen; it’s Carmine’s familiar footfalls. They have a sharp pronounce of heels hitting the tiled floors; his right foot tends to drag ever so slightly._

_He shuts the water off and grabs at the gauze he prepared by the sink. He applies pressure as he covers the wound._

_Carmine’s hand comes in with the tape and fastens the gauze down; he then unrolls a length of dressing. Victor turns with his palm out, waiting. The man finally speaks as he firmly but carefully winds the dressing around Victor’s hand._

_“I know you and my children have been at odds with each other, Sophia more so.”_

_Victor keeps silent and watches as his Don fastens the dressing securely. He looks up into the man’s sharp gaze and nods. His brow furrowed with concern over earning his admonishment._

_Carmine turns and strides out of the kitchen; Victor promptly follows. The both of them head to Falcone’s library on the furthest wing of the estate._

_Carmine wanders to one of the many windows that look out into a garden. The lush landscape was once lovingly cared for by Falcone’s late wife. Rose bushes laden with soft pastel and vibrant red flowers line the stony walkways that wind and bend into secret verdant alcoves. The old man often wanders those long paths before retiring to his quarters._

_Victor never met the Don’s wife but he knows that everything she cared for and last touch is preserved immaculately the way she left it; even Carmine._

_The Don took him in when he was twelve; in the four years he’s been in Carmine’s care and tutelage, he’s never seen the man take another wife or lover._

_“Do you understand what your role is within my empire?”_

_Victor stands a few feet behind the old man. Carmine’s gaze remains on the gardens outside._

_“Yes, Don Falcone. I’m your executioner.”_

_Carmine turns around and nods._

_“There’s more to it. You know my kids. One would rather be as far away from me as he can possibly be while his sister would lay everything I’ve carefully built into ruins; she hungers for power. I have no legacy in them. Regardless of how I feel, they are my children and should be afforded the same respect you give me.”_

_Victor’s eyes grow wide for a second before he nods contritely; his gaze lowering in respect._

_“I’ve made the decision to send Sofia away to study and to forget about the family business.”_

_The news shock Victor; his eyes lock with Carmine’s. The old man is smiling. His Don approaches and takes his face in both hands._

_“You are my legacy, Victor. When my time approaches, you will be my heir. There’s more to commanding than instilling fear and killing. You will learn this by my side.”_

_Victor reaches up and lays his hands on Falcone’s wrists. His eyes wide as he dares to retort._

_“I can’t change what I am; I’m a killer.”_

_“Yes, you are. Killing for business and killing for pleasure are all in fine but there is another type of killing that will alienate you from your men and women: killing without thought. It will ruin you. I know you have urges and compulsions you can’t control, you will learn to separate them.”_

Victor rubs the back of his neck as he pushes aside the memory. He hits redial on his phone. He knows it’s probably futile to continue. He’s certain Sofia and her men have intercepted the detective along with Edward.

 

— J —

 

“Holy fuck! This place is an icebox. Whoa whoa! Hold up, I’m losin’ my grip!”

Jim halts; he and Harvey managed to get Edward out of the lab and into the elevators but find that their hands are going numb; the temperatures of the main floor are too much to handle. Both men blow on their hands to get some warmth.

Jim peers around the large and icy space, it feels entirely too open for his liking. He gruffs at Harvey.

“Alright, com’on, Harv. We need to hurry; Victor said we only had two hours. I rather not cut this close.”

Harvey nods as he and Jim continue to slide Edward’s cube across the floor. They shimmie the frozen man through the hallway towards the backdoor exit. Harvey exits first to get Officer Rocca to open the back of the van.

Once they get the cube secured, they hear Officer Rocca call out and a single shot. Jim races back to the front of the van and sees the officer fall clutching at his shoulder.

Two men come into view. One has his piece aimed at the fallen officer and the other has his aimed at him.

“Lower your weapon detective or this man dies.”

Jim glares but does as they say and drops his gun. He can hear Harvey fighting someone on the other side of the van but the captain is soon neutralized and laying on the ground unconscious.

“We’ll take it from here, Detective Gordon.”

The three ambushers hop into the van and pull away.

Jim hurries to the fallen cop and pulls out his phone. He blinks down at the vibrating device. He looks at the caller ID; the number is “unknown”.

“Detective Gordon, sorry, I have an emergency situation… ”

“Jim! No! Wait!”

“Zsasz?!”

“Jim, Sofia knows!”

“Yeah, we just got ambushed! Three men took the van with The Riddler.”

Jim quickly ends the call, giving Victor no time to respond. He calls out to emergency services when he hears Harvey come to with a loud groan. The roughed-up captain slowly rolls and sits; he croaks out.

“I told yeah so.”

 

— J —

 

At the hospital:

“Officer Rocca will be okay. How are you holding up?”

Jim approaches Harvey who is sitting in a hospital room with an ice pack to his head

“Nothin’ but my head got hurt so I’m good.”

“I have all units available looking for our heisted van. I hope we hear something by tonight.”

Harvey nods and gruffs out.

“We’ll be so lucky if we ever find that truck or Edward again. So, it wasn’t Zsasz who had us ambushed?”

Jim shakes his head.

“No, he called to warn me but I had my phone on silent while we were in the club. He actually tried reaching me many times.”

Harvey scoffs as he slides the ice pack further down the back of his neck.

“A real _sweetheart_ that guy.”

 

— 卌 —

 

A loud wail emits deep from the small and highly animated crime lord. His body shakes and shimmies as both fists shake vigorously in front of him. His high pompadour waving around like a reed in the wind. His voice breaks in between screams, having reached its limit of what his vocal cords are capable of emitting.

“Whaaa—aaaaat!?

Oswald continues to screech at the top of his lungs. Both tiny fists clutch at his hair, ready to tear his raven locks out in anger.

Victor could have called but opted to tell the small kingpin in person; he laments his decision. He watches on with detached amusement. His eyes follow the quivering and vehement man as he goes through the gambit of screaming, throwing things and flailing his limbs. He patiently waits for Penguin to get a hold of himself.

Oswald turns his teary eyes on Victor. He angrily thrusts an index finger his way as he hobbles up to him.

“You! I told you to get more guards there!”

Victor replies casually.

“My girls were on their way, boss. The kidnappers must’ve been watchin’ the lounge. Don’t worry, we’ll find The Riddler.”

Oswald frets and chews on a thumb nail. His face stained with tears. All he can do is obsess over what the thieves are doing to his precious Edward.

“Find him, Victor. _Please.”_

“I will, boss.”

Oswald snaps his gaze at Zsasz; his expression crestfallen. Victor can sense that the small man wants to take comfort in him. He inwardly cringes as he quickly spins on his heels and makes for the door. He wants to quickly nip any chance of Oswald clawing at him for another hug.

Victor finds it difficult to be in his presence when he’s weak and overly emotional. He usually revels in Oswald’s company but seeing him reduced to a blubbery mess makes him want to run the other way.

_The only tears I want from him are when I finally get him in my kill room. Large crocodile tears spillin’ over from those green eyes. Him begging me to stop._

Victor flashes his teeth as he mentally runs down the long list of all his specialized tools and restraints. He then remembers he mentioned cooking dinner for Oswald. His eyes light up; he strokes his chin between his thumb and index finger.

_I should make Matzo ball soup for starters. Oooh, spicy shakshuka with challah bread. Why not go the full ten yards and make rugelach? It is a special evenin’ after all. I’ll need my strength and so will Oswald, if he’s to last to my satisfaction._

Zsasz strides down the hall towards the foyer; he spies Fries returning. The man is on the phone, a look of concern on his face; he can hear him ask.

“Where are you? I’m here in the mansion now.”

Fries snaps his phone closed and races past Victor. He doesn’t acknowledge the assassin; his concern is solely on getting to Oswald.

Zsasz’s eyes follow Fries as he jogs down the hallway and enters the study. He raises an eyebrow; he double-backs to the door. He can hear Fries.

“Why did it take his team members so long to get to the club?”

Oswald is sniffling but croaks out.

“I don’t know. Will Edward be okay if he’s thawed out?”

“He’ll be alive. Oswald, I don’t trust Zsasz.”

“Victor, I’ve known him a long time. I _trust_ him with my life.”

Zsasz pulls away from the door and furrows his brow at Penguin’s words. A disturbing pang develops in his gut; he blinks as he swallows down a odd lump in his throat.

He turns and makes a dash out of the mansion. His girls are already checking some locations for any signs of Sofia. He plans on joining them but he wants to make a detour first.

 

— 卌 —

 

Jim heads home after spending majority of the night searching for the van and waiting on word of sightings. Harvey had been ushered home upon leaving the hospital. Jim decides to give his friend a call to check up on him. Harvey is quick to answer.

“Jim, any word on Edward?”

“No, nothing. I told the officers on shift if they get any leads to call me. I’m headed home.”

“Ok, buddy. I’ll be awake, I had a long nap; I’m a bit restless. Give me a call if you hear somethin’.”

“Will do.”

Famished, defeated, and exhausted, Detective Gordon stops at a local burger joint. He opts to take his dinner to-go so he can relax in the quiet solitude of his apartment. When he pulls into his parking spot he notices the light on in his apartment. He quirks an eyebrow as he places the car in park.

_I guess I forgot to turn off the kitchen lights._

Victor relaxes on the couch as he does a mental rundown all the places Sofia and her men could hole up with Edward. He looks at the time.

_Jim might be workin’ late after what happened at the club._

Victor digs into his coat pocket to leave Jim a list of locations he scribbled down; places he believes might be prime targets for finding Edward. He hears slow footsteps scale the stairs outside; the sticky wooden door snaps open with a vibrating twang. He watches with a grin as the detective shuffles straight to the kitchen.

Jim sets his food on the island. He peels off his jacket and loosens his tie, then busily removes his badge and holster. He lays everything on top of the island counter.  

He glances at the kitchen area and stops in his tracks. The space is sparkling clean; there’s a smell of disinfectant in the air. The coffee cups from this morning are washed and drying on a kitchen towel. The countertops are wiped clean of the crumbs of meals past along with the inch layer of dust. The blinds above the sink are raised and the window opened just a sliver.

He scrunches his face as his eyes continue to sweep the small space. He spies Zsasz’s crumpled calling card sticking to his fridge with a magnet and not in the waste bin where he had left it. He hears the rustle of clothing; his couch squeaks with movement. A soft voice calls out to him.

“Jim.”

Jim whips his head towards his living room. Zsasz is standing in the darkened space; his characteristic lopsided grin barely visible by the amber glow of the kitchen light. He gapes at the unexpected visitor but his surprise is soon overshadowed with frustration. He frowns at Victor as he mumbles with exhaustion.

“I really wish you would stop breaking into my apartment.”

Victor raises an eyebrow at the detective; a quizzical look crinkles his affable expression.

“Uuuh...you never lock your door. I didn’t _break in_ ; I walked in.”

Jim shoots the approaching man a look of displeasure as he sits on a stool. He runs a hand through his hair, unsure if he is angry at Victor because of the ambush or because they are alone _again,_  in less than twenty four hours. He glances at Victor as the man stands before him

“How did Sofia know I would be there at the club? What’s going on Victor? I want to believe you had nothing to do with the ambush but …”

Victor interrupts as he grabs Jim’s fast food dinner. He responds as he peers into the paper bag.

“She had a tail on me. He was listening in on us— _you call this food?_ ”

Victor pulls out the burger wrapped in a greasy cover. He looks at Jim and nods at the lukewarm sandwich.

 _“This…_ (tosses the burger and bag containing fries into the trash can) is _garbage,_  Jim.”

Jim watches wide-eyed as his burger and fries arc over the island top. He tries to intercept but reacts too slowly. He quickly leans over and sees his fries and burger spill into the trash can. He turns and barks at Victor.

“Hey, what the hell?!”

Victor holds up a finger; he heads to the fridge and opens it.

Jim raises an eyebrow at all the food packed into his normally empty fridge. There’s a case of his favorite ale, containers of fresh deli meat slices, a couple of wrapped subs, prepared sliced fruit in plastic containers, an assortment of prepared salads, also cheese and hummus dips. He just _now_ notices a couple of bags of sourdough bread sitting by the fridge.

“You have great bodegas around the corner with great fresh food and produce. You should eat healthier, Jim. Oh, I also got you more coffee and there’s cream and milk here in the door shelf.”

Jim blinks at Victor, his hardened expression softening just a bit with the unprecedented thoughtfulness. He nods and mumbles.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.”

Victor takes out a long sandwich bag and a beer. He slides the offerings to Jim then begins his search for a bottle opener.

Jim’s eyes light up; he quickly drags the bag closer to look inside. The smell of meats, cheese and savory sauces waft up; his stomach growls. He pulls out the foot long sub and mentions.

“The drawer by the fridge.”

Victor smiles as he holds up the bottle opener. He makes quick work of the bottle cap and slides the freshly opened beer towards Jim.

Jim takes a bite of the sub and chugs at the beer while Victor retrieves a bottle of water and a container with assorted fruit slices. Jim eyes the man as he leans against the kitchen sink and opens his snack.

“So why are you here, besides filling my fridge with groceries and lecturing me on my poor food choices?”

Victor ignores Jim’s question as he comes around the island to sit next to the detective. His fork stabbing at a plump fruit slice. He holds out a mango cube towards Jim and smiles.

“Here, try this.”

Jim glances at the fork coming towards his mouth; his eyes snap back to Victor’s expectant gaze. His guest is smiling, waiting for him to open his mouth. Jim hesitates but accepts the offering; he can feel a flush of heat in his cheeks.

Victor watches as Jim chews, that perfect chin going up and down then the long draw of his adam’s apple as he swallows. He notices Jim’s cheeks are turning red; the detective is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jim glances at him.

“It’s good.”

Victor watches on with rapt amusement as the detective leans away. He smirks as he stabs at a pineapple slice and plops the yellow triangle into his mouth.

Victor takes his drink and fruit cup to the living room.

“Jim, come. I have a list of locations where Sofia might have Edward at.”

Jim watches wearily as the assassin strides to the couch. After a moment or two he grabs his sandwich and beer and joins Victor on the couch.

Jim sets down his food and drink on the coffee table and goes to sit. He suddenly feels a hand on his forearm and one on his thigh, pulling him close as he falls back onto the cushions. He blinks when he finds himself snugged tightly against the assassin. He grits his teeth and flashes Victor a disapproving look.

Victor beams a large smile as he reclines back into the couch, draping an arm over the backrest.

“My girls are checkin’ on some of these places right now. I marked them with an asterisk.”

He digs into his coat and produces a folded paper with addresses and holds it out.

Jim takes the offered list and studies it with focused scrutiny. His mind begins working; he furrows his brow when he notices an oversight.

_Of all the locations on the list none of them are the warehouses of that dead man in the Falcone safe house._

He glances over at Victor.

“This list is incomplete.”

Victor raises an eyebrow as his gaze shifts from the paper to Jim’s eyes.

“Whaddya mean? I know of capos locations for storin’ stuff. That’s everyplace that I know of that could house Edward and Sofia’s men.”

Jim shakes his head and thinks.

“This morning at a house we believe belonged to Falcone loyalist, there were several dead men. One in particular, he owned warehouses. Harvey and I were headed over to investigate them when I got your phone call.”

Victor sits up.

“Where?”

“Past the Narrows on the other side of the train tracks. Harvey mentioned five total.”

Victor takes out his phone and calls out to Tash.

“Take the girls and head over past the Narrows...”

“Victor, they’re separated by blocks. Hold on.”

Jim calls to Harvey and takes a pen that Victor is holding out to him.

“Harv, sorry to bug you but I need the location of those warehouses we were going to check earlier.”

“Yeah, there are two on Greenholm by the pawn shop. Then the next closest one, the largest, is on Loop 220 East just before the interstate. The other two smaller ones I wanna say are on West Berry and Old Main Street. Get a lead? Think that Edward’s somewhere at those places?”

“Yeah, something like that. I’ll call you if anything turns up.”

Victor looks at the addresses and continues his discussion with Tash giving her the locations.

“Split up the team and text me when the buildings have been searched.”

Victor ends the call and looks at Jim.

“Give me and my team the night. They’re experienced at reconnaissance work. If you send cops, no tellin’ what’ll happen.”

Jim is about to retort but he quickly concedes with a short nod. After the failed heist at the club he rather Victor and his team put their necks on the line this time.

Victor dives back into his fruit cup and hands Jim his beer.

“For now, probably should get your rest. You are gonna need it; if I know Sofia, trouble is just ‘bout to begin.”

Jim drinks from his bottle and tears off a manageable chunk from his sub. He begins to feel tense again; the proximity of his body to Victor’s is about as close as he can be without being on his lap. He tries to relax, but doing so in Zsasz’s company is almost impossible. He doesn’t fully trust the odd man and having the killer’s amorous attentions begins to trouble him.

Victor beams Jim a large smile and watches as the man eats. He can tell Jim is extremely uncomfortable and on guard again. His muscles are tense even as he goes through the motions of eating and drinking.

_I would love to stay and unravelled him again but I gotta find Sofia._

He can envision Jim underneath him, sweaty— _desperate_. His body pulses with longing when he thinks about using Jim’s handcuffs on him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair all mussed, his wrists red, scraped, and raw from struggling. Those hard blue eyes wide and watching in horror. Victor would love to use his small _bear claw_ fixed blade on Jim’s tanned body. He would take his time to cut dozens of small incisions into the detective.

Victor feels that familiar tingle up his spine. The _thing_ within him finally accepting the offer of GCPD’s Golden Boy. Victor twists his mouth as his expression crinkles in disapproval.

_No... Jim deserves a warrior’s death._

Once he feels the hunger within him coil back deep inside; he relaxes. Victor takes a few more pieces of the fruit and drinks down half of his water bottle. He stands and walks the items to the kitchen, placing the leftovers in the fridge.

“I’m a go. I should be close to my boss and the girls in case I’m needed.”

Jim glances over at Victor and nods; not bothering to get up or offer parting words.

Victor drawls merrily with a bright smile.

“See ya!”

Jim watches as the assassin strides right out the door. He listens as Victor’s brisk footsteps reverberate on the metal stairway then disappear onto the sidewalk. He finally relaxes.

He takes one more bite of his sandwich and goes to store the rest of his meal in the fridge. He glances at the front door with pursed lips; a soft sigh escapes from out of his nose. He knows he should push Victor away, but he can’t help but crave a replay of their steamy morning make-out session. Jim clears his throat and mentally admonishes himself for the truthful yet startling admission.

He glances at the wrinkled calling card before opening the fridge door. He then ambles over to the living room with the intention of finishing his beer and heading to bed. That’s when he hears quick footsteps stomp up the stairs. He gawks as Victor whips open the door and states in all seriousness.

“I almost forgot… “

Victor’s eyes hold steady on Jim as he closes the small distance between them.

Jim feels himself jerked in and pressed tightly to Victor’s body. Soft lips envelope him and he finds himself giving in, just like before. He melts; he wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders. His mouth eagerly opening to allow the prying tongue in.

After a few moments, Victor pulls back as he lets out a soft sigh.

“I’d like to continue this again when things aren’t so messed up.”

Jim blinks up at Victor still unable to offer him any words of encouragement. His eyes scan the boyish face before him as his arms release Victor from his grasp. A troubled expression creeps across his face; he looks away.

Victor smiles and shakes his head.

“Is it ‘coz I’m a man… or what I do— _or both_?”

Jim swallows and frowns.

“It’s because it’s _you…_ Victor. I shouldn’t be kissing you; I should be putting you behind bars.”

Victor makes an “ah” expression with his mouth as his head pulls back. A large smile beams brightly as he says.

“I was beginnin’ to think I was a bad kisser or somethin’”

Jim lets loose a scoff. A small grin pries at a corner of his mouth, much to his surprise. He quickly loses the smile and ushers Victor out the door.

“I need sleep.”

Victor beams Jim a goofy grin as he playfully resists being shoved.

“I’ll text you if I find anythin’ out. Oh, and don’t throw away my card again, you might find yourself _needin’_ me one night.”

Jim manages to get the difficult man out of the apartment and offers him one word.

“Maybe.”

Victor flashes Jim a large toothy smile as the detective slams the door closed.

 

— S —

 

“How much do you want us to cut into the cube, Ms. Falcone?”

“Get close but do not draw blood. Is the camera rolling?”

“Yes, Ms. Falcone. Ready.”

Sofia nods as one of her men starts a chainsaw and begins cutting into Edward’s icy prison.

_If Penguin refuses to surrender than I will send him The Riddler back to him in pieces. If this man means anything to him, I should have Gotham under my rule in no time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the next installment! Things are a bit hectic here on my front, but I’ve been making sure to set aside at lease an hour a day to keep working on the story!
> 
> I’ve been having a great time writing some flashbacks within the story to give a little Sophia/Zsasz back history. There will be more, for sure!
> 
> ~FC


	8. What’s Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim closes in on finding the stolen van containing Edward. Sofia’s plans for Penguin and the GCPD are underway. Oswald and Zsasz have a frank discussion about the events that transpired.

 

— J —

 

Next morning:

Jim rolls out of bed at the sound of his alarm. He yawns and thinks about heading to the _Morning Dough_ for a coffee and muffin. He huffs a breath of disdain at the thought but he awoke exceptionally hungry. He doesn’t particularly care for the bakery. Unfortunately, it’s the only place on his way to work that is A: _open_ and B: _serves breakfast to-go._ His hangdog features pinch in annoyance; the bakery only serves an instant brew. He usually orders two, but it does nothing to get him going in the morning.

He halts in his tracks; his face brightens when he remembers that Victor filled his fridge with food.

 _There’s also_ **_real_ ** _coffee to be had._

He smiles and sighs in resignation; he concedes that perhaps Victor is onto something by stocking up on quality food. A memory of the assassin’s smile as he busily makes Jim a cup of coffee sends a little shiver through him.

Jim pauses and perks his ears to listen for any signs that a certain someone might be rummaging around in his kitchen. He hears nothing beyond his own breathing and the gentle hum of the city outside; no one is waiting for him past his bedroom door.

He twists his mouth in disappointment and sucks his teeth. A twinge of guilt manifests; he shakes his head at himself for hoping Victor stole into his apartment again.

 _Get a hold of yourself. What good would come from Zsasz sniffing around? Have you forgotten he’s a killer? Allowing a sexual relationship is a bad idea…_ **_a very bad idea_** _. He may come off as a reasonable person but his reputation didn’t come from being a kind and fair man._

Jim shakes his head and continues his morning rituals.

He strolls into the kitchen and readies his coffee maker with the grounds Victor bought him. He examines the packaging that reads _Koffee Kult:_ dark roast; he snorts.

 _Obviously Victor isn’t hurting for money. This is a almost thirty dollar bag of coffee and he got me three. Unbelievable. Between him coming around and the surprise gifts, I’m sure he expects_ **_something_** _._

Jim grumbles at the absurdity of Zsasz schmoozing him to get into his pants. He opens the bag with a pair of shears; the bag breathes as air rushes in. Jim slumps his shoulders in praise when the aroma hits him. His olfactories are instantaneously blanketed by rich notes of cocoa and cinnamon. He prepares his coffee maker with water and the grounds then looks in the fridge. He settles for the leftover roast beef sandwich he was working on last night. He sniffs the air as the coffee maker begins to percolate; the fine steam disperses the heavenly scent around him.

_Damn, that smells so good! Zsasz maybe a lot of things but his choice in coffee is superb._

Once his grogginess begins to give way, he finally remembers what happened last night: Victor whipping open his front door and then— _lips_. It unsettles him how quickly he gave in to the felon. A flush of heat spikes when he recalls how tightly those arms pulled him in. His pulse quickens, rushing blood begins to fill him down below. That familiar tightness keeps growing when the memory of the assassin’s taste and feel of his mouth pervades his thoughts.

 _So very sweet and delectable. That perfect mouth... so hot… wet. Hungry. Okay,_ **_stop_ ** _already._

A deep throbbing ache pulses several times; his engorged cock jolts against the fabric of his boxers. He momentarily indulges in a hazy fantasy of Victor going down on him.

Jim shakes off the image, knowing full well he doesn’t have the time to release some tension. He takes another bite of his impromptu breakfast as he grumbles mentally at the lack of any sort of _release_ as of late.

_Maybe that’s why I’m entertaining Zsasz. I haven’t had any in a long time. Well that, and he is very —very— sexy._

He glances at the calling card. He can already see himself up against the wall: _naked and being filled_. The feel of a knife across his throat and Victor wildly thrusting into him. His skin ripples with goosebumps. He can practically hear Victor groaning and uttering dirty desires into his ear. Jim feels another flash of heat course through his body. He sighs and bites his lower lip.

 _Okay, I need to stop. Going all the way with Victor will come with so many regrets_.

Apprehension over Zsasz’s attentions begins to ball up in his gut again. The sexual excitement gives way to a nagging dread. He stares at his food as his thoughts linger on what exactly Victor expects of their attraction.

_He doesn’t seem the type to use it to his advantage and has yet to request anything of me. Sure he wants me to take Edward off Oswald’s hands but… why?_

He chews on his lower lip as his thoughts begin to circle back and forth. He hears his phone vibrate on the island counter with a text message. He scoops up his phone and sees that it’s an unknown number.

 

_Searched all five warehouses_

_Found something_

_Call me_

 

 

Jim snags Victor’s calling card off his refrigerator to retrieve the number. His call is received on the second ring as Zsasz begins talking.

“The one on Old Main; there’s some evidence of their short time there. Gas cans, empty plastic bags, food containers, and large puddles of water.”

Jim thinks a moment.

“Are there surveillance cameras?

“Yeah, but the security recordins’ were erased.”

Jim sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Okay, don’t touch anything else; I’m headed over. Might want to make yourself scarce.”

“Yeah, this is far as my involvement goes with this.”

Zsasz ends the call.

Jim inwardly cringes at the thought of Oswald goaded into war. After what happened with his mother and Galavan, an all out battle on the streets is a very real possibility. He dials out to Harvey.

“Harvey, meet me at the warehouse on Old Main St.”

“Geez, mornin’ to you too. I’m already at work, see ya in twenty minutes or sooner!”

“Okay.”

Jim sets his phone down and takes a large bite out of his neverending footlong sub. He places it back in the fridge when he hears his phone vibrate with another text from Victor.

 

_BTW_

_I wanna see you again_

_When?_

 

Jim stares at the message, he feels a lump in his throat; he tries to swallow it down but the lump remains. His gut twists; there’s a pang of regret that begins to sour his mood. He doesn’t know how to answer the text or even if he should.

 _This is no good. I need to put a stop to this right_ **_now_** _._

His instincts are telling him things with Zsasz have gone too far already. He hopes the assassin will just move on. Jim sends Victor a quick reply to end it once and for all.

 

_Sorry but no._

_Don’t come by ever again._

 

He sets his phone down and runs a hand down his face. He’s dreading Victor’s reply but none comes immediately. He sighs and hopes that Zsasz decided to handle the rejection in his typical breezy way and press on.

He hears his coffee maker finished brewing as the drip system gurgles with the last drops of the heated water. He grabs a thermos and pours himself a to-go serving then rushes to his bedroom to finish dressing.

 

— 卌 —

 

 

 Victor parks his car in front of the mansion; he turns to his team lead Tash.

“I’m sure Penguin is suspicious of everyone by now. Place the trackers on all vehicles. Have everyone head to alternate HQ.”

Tash nods and looks at Xochitl; both ladies exit the Imperial and get to work. Zsasz takes a moment to look at the text from Jim. He stares at the screen as the words hang in front of his eyes like some alien language. His face screws up in disbelief as a loud scoff puffs out; he’s dumbfounded by Jim’s continual resistance.

The rudeness of the texted _brush-off_ as well as the tone of the message, angers him. He clenches his teeth as heavy breaths rush in and out of his nostrils. He’s never dealt with rejection before, especially when he’s the one doing the pursuing. Someone like Jim Gordon might have been a lofty conquest, but all the signs were there. The detective acted very receptive towards a sexual fling; he was willing to bet money on it.

He dismisses Jim’s text as nothing more than the detective playing hard to get— a cat and mouse game.

 _I know he wants me. I’ll_ **_make_ ** _him give in if I have to._

Victor feels _that_ presence. The spine-grabbing tingle, like electric fire crawling up his back and into his head. He eyes cloud as he imagines running Jim down. His hands snapping out and wrapping around the man’s throat as he snarls in glee. He will make the detective submit through use of brute force if he has to. Victor shudders and rolls his eyes up in pleasure. He envisions pummeling the flaxen haired man to keep him disoriented; he’s sure Jim will fight back. He _wants_ Jim to fight back; he expects no less of the warrior he’s come to respect.

He presses his lips together in realization. In every hand-to-hand instance with Jim, the detective always prevails as the champion. Even though he wants a battle, Victor also wants and _needs_ to win.

_I really need to win if I wanna remain free. Being locked up in Blackgate or Arkham would put a damper on things._

He screws up his mouth as he thinks.

_I can always slip him a molly. It won’t take the fight completely outta him._

His face goes sour at the thought of using such underhanded tactics. Jim isn’t regular prey; he’s an opponent. His sensibilities tell him that he should come up with a real plan that won’t undermine his pride and self respect.

He makes a mental note to have his combat knives ready and sharpened beforehand as to not waste time. He can see himself now, slashing at Jim’s clothes in a wild frenzy; making light work of it all.

 _And then_.

_Then…_

Victor flashes all of his teeth; he can see his large knife plunging down hard into Jim’s chest once he’s done with him. He wants to carve out the detective’s heart to devour it in a symbolic action of taking his strength and spirit. Victor shudders and exhales a hungry breath. He glares at the text message again.

_Your mine, Jim. You just don’t know it yet._

He pops his neck and rolls his shoulders; he just now notices that he is holding the phone in a painful grip. He loosens his fingers as his knuckles ache and pop. He stiffly taps out a reply.

 

_So you say._

 

Innocuous and vague, Zsasz opts to keep Jim guessing at his meaning.

Victor pockets his phone and enters the mansion. He gets his head back into the immediate problems at hand. Now that Sofia has Penguin’s prized Edward ice cube, he’s certain Oswald’s rage hasn’t dissipated in the very least. He would bet the small man is bordering on paranoia by now.

Zsasz finds Oswald in his meeting hall. There’s a congregation of gang leaders and affiliates gathered around the table as they listen to his instructions. The small man stands and dismisses everyone and reinerates to the departing masses.

“One-hundred thousand dollar cash reward to whomever can bring me Edward and the culprits back _alive_. Get the word out!”

Victor raises an eyebrow; Oswald is disheveled, appearing to have not slept. He's sure the small man is also sporting a wicked hang-over. The usual high pompadour gone and in its place a ratty nest of bedhead. The tangled mess is haphazardly swept and collected behind one ear. The only thing neat and tidy on Oswald is his suit of the day, but even then the small bird opted for drabness; foregoing his usual bright accents. Victor would normally find all this too amusing (and maybe a little sexy), but his business with Oswald distracts him.

Victor stands aside as people filter out of the meeting hall. His expression is solemn as he waits for privacy. He’s been caught up in his own thoughts about Carmine since the ride over.

_Sofia threatened to rat me out to her father but I’m sure he knows where I am, especially after that phone call. I have to tell Oswald and maybe talk some sense into him._

Oswald’s laser like gaze holds steady on Victor; he quickly hobbles up the the silent gunman. He questions hopefully, despite the hard expression on Zsasz’s face.

“Victor! Did you find him?!”

Victor shakes his head but quickly adds.

“I found evidence of where they were holed up but they’re long gone. We should talk, there’s somethin’... ”

Oswald’s impatience and desperation flairs with the lack of good news. A pitiful wail emits as he stumbles towards the table and leans on the polished surface. He growls as he grabs at a candelabra centerpiece and throws it against a wall. The items erupt upon impact, spraying hot wax unto the floor.

Victor purses his lips in annoyance as a couple of candlesticks begin to set the large antique rug on fire. He hustles over and snuffs out the flames. He glances over at Oswald who has his hands in his hair, still wailing in misery.

Oswald releases his hair as his red eyes glare back at Victor. He points a finger out toward the wide world beyond the mansion walls. His voice breaking as he demands.

“Go back out there and find Edward! Don’t come back till he’s safe with me! I want whoever did this to suffer! I want their heads!”

Oswald turns and begins to grab at items on the table. Coffee cups, crystal ashtrays, and anything else within his frenzied grasps goes flying towards the stone face of his fireplace. His breaths hitch and spike as he wildly flings each item haphazardly.

Victor sighs, unwilling to wait out another of Penguin’s tirades, he storms over and snatches a small plate out of the kingpin’s clutches. He tosses the plate on the table and grabs Oswald by the shoulders. He growls.

“Enough!”

Oswald’s breaths are like that of a desperate animal; the guttural grunts exiting from his mouth catch him off guard. He takes a long slow breath in and tries to calm himself.

When it seems that the small man is finally maintaining a bit of composure, Zsasz clears his throat. His voice is measured as he states.

“This is the work of Sofia Falcone, _Carmine’s daughter._ ”

Oswald’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops. His hands come up to the sides of his head as he tries to process Zsasz’s words.

Victor presses his lips together; his eyes scanning the small man’s face as the information settles in.

Oswald shuffles to a small couch by the fireplace and plops down. His mind a mess with everything that has transpired in the last twenty-four hours. His hysterics extinguished; he now sits quietly in retrospect. His gaze settles to his lap as his brow furrows; large silent tears fall steadily onto his lap.

 _The Falcones. I find it strange that Victor would admit to me their involvement after declaring how he_ **_belongs_ ** _to Carmine. Whatever that means._

His thoughts wade through the possibilities that Zsasz is working with the Falcones to topple his empire. His body tenses as a sudden wave of paroxysms hit him hard. He inhales sharply and covers his face as he does his best to steady his breathing.

_Then what he feels for me, us, isn’t real. None of it is real._

Oswald rubs at his chest when he feels a dull aching pain; it threatens to take his breath away. He bounces a leg nervously as nagging thoughts about Victor begin manifesting.

_If he’s working with the Falcones to get rid of me, then he would say and do anything to gain my trust. I should have known it was all too good to be true._

_No! If he wanted to kill me for the Falcones, I would be dead already! Victor had so many chances. He could have done away with me any number of times we were alone._

Victor watches Oswald; he has never seen the small man this broken before.

 _Sure, Penguin was devastated when his mom was captured, but he was still able to reason and think straight for the most part._ _This is the worst I’ve seen him_.

Victor watches on as Oswald’s body shudders. His eyes are staring far off into the distance; he can tell the Penguin is fighting some inner battle and Victor is sure it's about him.

He watches as a tear-stained face, illuminated by the fireplace, peers up at him. The expression on Oswald’s delicate features disturbingly more broken than before. He can sense what he is going to say. His loyalty is in question; he would think Oswald a fool if he didn’t at least suspect him of working with the Falcones.

Zsasz holds a steady gaze and rigid stance as the small kingpin inhales shakily and asks.

“Did you know? Are _you_ apart of this?”

Oswald waits for Zsasz to respond. The assassin’s stiff body posture and wide eyes give him away. He can feel his heartbreaking with each millisecond that passes Victor doesn’t reply. His face contorts; his last shred of hope flickers and dies deep inside of him.

Victor slowly shakes his head and replies.

“No, I’m not workin’ with _Sofia Falcone_. She’s actin’ on her own, apart from her father.”

Oswald’s face scrunches as his lips press tightly to suppress a large sob, it shudders his whole body. He quickly looks away and down at his lap. A small part of him wants to believe Victor but his intuition tells him to get rid of him— _quickly_.

Victor can feel his muscles tense tightly. What he said isn’t a lie but he _has_ conspired against Oswald by offering up Edward as payment. He can make do with half truths but this one cuts into the quick of him. In the end, he may not have the best intentions for Oswald but he will be damned if he serves him dishonestly while he is alive. He took a big gamble with Jim; both he and the detective lost big. This puts Victor in a very vulnerable position.

He can sense that Oswald doesn’t believe him.

There’s that knot in his gut again; he swallows back the bile in his throat. He blinks and approaches; Oswald still has his eyes cast down onto his lap. He maneuvers around the table and chairs to where Oswald is sitting. He lowers himself to get at eye level.

Oswald watches as Victor squats in front of him. The man’s face is smooth and vacant of any emotions— _as always_. For some reason this upsets Oswald more; it confirms that he and Zsasz are not a fit. He wanted to make it work, but he and Victor would just end up hating each other. They are too different.

_Edward may have been detached but he still had passion. Victor doesn’t seem to be moved by anything that doesn’t involve killing or carnal desires._

Oswald turns his gaze away from Zsasz; unable to withstand those large dark eyes drilling into him.

Victor tilts his head and pulls down the corners of his mouth.

“If I was workin’ for her I coulda easily gotten rid of you long ago.”

Victor quickly rolls onto his knees and grabs Oswald’s face. He makes the small man look at him and hold his gaze for a moment. He then quickly leans in and kisses the distraught man.

Oswald stiffens, unsure if Victor means to accost him with teeth and tongue like all the other times. He settles when soft lips place a chaste kiss. He blinks as more tears fall; the tenderness takes him by surprise.

Victor releases Oswald and shuffles into a kneeling position. He rubs the top of his smooth head and inhales a deep breath.

“I got somethin’ to say.”

His request, on the outside, will seem like he has Oswald’s best interests in mind, but really it’s to keep his _prize kill_ from walking into a trap he may not be able to save him from. Victor looks up at the expectant man and takes a deep breath.

 

— J —

 

Harvey rushes into the warehouse to find Jim squatting in the middle of a large open bay. He’s looking at a couple of pieces of paper.

“Jimbo! Any idea where they coulda gone to?”

Jim already gone through the main area of where the discarded items lay. He’s found nothing but gas cans, bags of remaining food, electrical extension cords, and a couple crumpled receipts. He’s looking at the date and time on transaction slips. One is from a hardware store and the other is from a burger joint. Both of the establishments are on the northside of town. He stands and hands Harvey the wrinkled papers.

“Drew’s Hardware and Gotham Grille.”

Harvey’s eyes the receipts and shakes his head.

“No accountin’ for taste. Who goes to Gotham Grille and orders a fish burger? Dimwits, I tell yea.”

Jim places both hands on his hips and gives Harvey an incredulous look. Harvey continues.

“They went to Drew’s and got a couple of chainsaws and some gas cans. I see they left two extension cords but what were they used for?”

“I have no idea.”

Harvey’s eyes light up and he exclaims.

“Hey, Drew’s has security cameras! Com’on!”

Harvey and Jim hurry out of the warehouse when the captain’s phone rings.

“This is Captain Bullock.”

Harvey slows his pace to listen in. He takes a few more steps but comes to an abrupt halt as his eyes go wide.

Jim looks back; his friend has a haunted look, all the color seemingly drained from his face. He knits his brow in concern as he walks up to Harvey.

“Okay, we’re on the way.”

Harvey closes the phone and shakes his head. His voice cracks as he explains.

“A few late shift officers never made into work. Their bodies were found this mornin’— _strung up_. Shit… Damn!”

Jim looks on horrified. He then remembers that Victor told him Sofia had a plan in the works to distract the GCPD.

 _This would definitely get everyone’s attention_.

“Harv, I think this is the work of Sofia Falcone as well. I’m going to Drew’s Hardware to look at the security tapes. We should keep looking; if we let this trail go cold we may never find her and her goons. I promise to be there once I’m done. Text me the location.”

Harvey reluctantly nods and begins tapping out a text to Jim.

“If she is part of this, I’ll string her up my damn self! Five officers are dead!”

Jim nods solemnly and clasps a hand on Harvey’s shoulder.

“Go. I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

 

 

— J —

 

Jim watches the owner, Bill, of Drew’s Hardware as he brings up the recorded security footage from last night. The space they are both crammed into sits in the back of the hardware store; it’s no bigger than a walk-in closet. Equipment and televisions stack high and surround both men. Bill is in his early forties; his father, Drew, has long since retired.

“Got a time approximation, detective? If not we’ll be here awhile goin’ through all this.”

Jim rubs the back of his neck and estimates that it would take the men twenty minutes from when they were ambushed to make it to the northside of town.

“Try around eight-thirty at night just to be safe.”

Bill scrolls through to the time stamps. He has the feed from the entrance up; the footage zooms through. Around the nine-thirty mark Jim recognizes the three men that ambushed him, walking into the store.

“There! Those three. Do you have a camera aimed at the parking lot?”

“Sure do, detective. It’s attached to the face of the buildin’ so it might be grainy or too far. The lightin’ might be an issue too.”

Bill switches to recordings to the outside feed.

Jim can see the stolen police van as it halts to allow the three men to disembark and enter the building. The van then drives to the back and parks. Jim shakes his head, the image is grainy at best.

A few minutes later another larger vehicle, a delivery truck, parks next to it. A woman exits the stolen police vehicle and talks to the person in the truck. Later the three men that were in the store, exit with a couple of chainsaws and bags of other equipment. The white truck then backs up to the van. The men pop back into the van, presumably to slide Edward into the other vehicle. Afterwards both vehicles drive away in different directions.

Bill rewinds to when the white delivery truck makes it onto the scene.

Jim is unable to make out discernible features. He hears Bill inhale a small breath and tries to zoom in.

“That white delivery truck is refrigerated. That there looks like a chilling unit on the face of that cargo hold.”

“It would have to be considering what they stole. Damn.”

Jim squints and shakes his head.

“I can’t make out the license plate or what logo that is on the side.”

Bill turns to Jim and replies as he shoves a thumb towards the screen.

“Yeah, I recognize those types of trucks. That logo there, though blurry, is recognizable; it's from a private delivery service. I seen them, I think their garages are on this side of town.”

Jim arches an eyebrow.

“I don’t suppose you know where they are located or the name of the company?”

“Nah, sorry detective, but their logo is a bird carryin’ a package.

Jim squints and nods his head at the image.

“I guess it does look like a bird carrying something. Can you make me a copy of that?”

“Sure thing.”

 

— J —

 

Jim hurries to his car and brings up his text messages. He notices one from Zsasz. That uncomfortable lump in his throat returns. He floats his thumb hesitantly to open the message. He grits his teeth and presses on Victor’s number.

Jim stares at the message for a moment. He sighs as he interprets the reply as nothing more than Victor shrugging off the rejection. Jim mumbles to himself.

“That was easier than I thought. Thank god.”

Jim calls to the GCPD to see if anyone can dig up the name of the delivery company as well as where their main garage or office is located. Dispatch said they will get back with him as soon as possible when they find the information. Jim brings up Harvey’s message to look at the address of the murders. He turns his lights on and speeds his way over to the meat processing district.

The scene is crowded; the discord almost akin to hysteria as people shout questions at the officers. Reporters and spectators are packed in tight at the cordon. Everyone hopes to catch a glimpse of the horrific tableau as doors open to allow officers and the forensic team in and out.

Jim hurries out of his car and approaches the roped off area. The officers working the perimeter let him in. He hurries through the doors and makes his way into the main bay where everyone is working.

Lucius and Harvey are there along with Harper. Jim’s eyes are glued to the display as a mixture of horror and nausea overwhelm him. The five murdered officers are hanging on meat hooks; their legs are bound together at the ankles. The ropes are used as leverage for the metal hooks to keep them hoisted a few inches off the ground. Several of them have mangled faces and missing hands or fingers. A huge pool of dark mingling blood, along with bits of flesh and bone, cover most of the smooth floor. The sickening smell of old blood, animal urine, and factory disinfectant overwhelm Gordon’s senses. He sways a bit and swallows back the acid threatening to come up. Jim manages somehow to get hold of himself as Harper approaches.

“Detective Gordon, they were discovered around seven in the morning by the factory workers. Whoever done this, disabled the security cameras and let loose several pigs. The animals managed to consume some of the them… _it’s bad_.”

Jim can feel his anger welling as he watches the mangled bodies lowered; officers and factory workers managed to contain the loose pigs to keep them from repeatedly feasting on the corpses.

He can hear Harvey bark.

“Those pigs will have to be killed to extract whatever they managed to eat! Hey! All of you, help the officers at the cordon and push back those fuckin’ civilians. I don’t want not one picture of our brethrens’ bodies makin’ it on the news!”

Jim turns to Harper.

“Any messages, clues or witnesses?”

Harper nods and says.

“The factory foreman mentioned they had a new hire that hasn’t shown up. He’s with our police sketch artist and an officer giving them the details. The killer didn’t leave a message other than the pigs. Captain Bullock is waiting for you before he goes to the families with the news.”

Jim nods and rushes over to Harvey as the man converses with Fox.

“They weren’t killed here, their time of deaths are all varied. These slices to their carotid arteries are made post mortem. I checked all their fingernails and hands. No signs they struggled. I’m sure the killer got the jump on them. I want to run a toxicology.”

Harvey nods.

“Okay, keep me in the loop. I’ll be out.”

“Harvey, I have a lead on our missing van. I’m waiting on location of all delivery businesses on the northside of town. One specifically that uses a bird carrying a package as their logo.”

“Okay, com’on fill me in. Gotta go inform the families of our fallen officers. Maybe they can give us information on the routes their spouses took to get to work.”

Jim nods solemnly as he and Harvey head for his car. He hates this part, usually Harvey makes these calls alone. Jim feels a huge weight settle on his shoulders, one he imagines his best friend has to carry every time an officer gets injured or worse— _killed_.

 

— 卌 —

 

Oswald releases a breath he had no idea he was holding. He painfully exhales a large puff; he then gasps to reclaim desperately needed oxygen. He closes his eyes as his expression contorts. He questions breathlessly.

“What did you say?”

Victor tilts his head as he arches his brow inquisitively.

“What part? The _forget ‘bout The Riddler_ part or the stuff ‘bout Sofia? Figured you were listenin’ coz...”

Oswald waves his hands exasperatedly to silence Zsasz. He snaps to his feet and glares down at the perplexed man. He hisses through his clenched teeth.

“Forget about Edward?! That’s not going to happen!”

Victor presses his lips together and stands. He shakes his head and retorts.

“You’ll be walkin’ into a trap. You know that, right?”

Oswald inhales a sharp breath as his body quakes. He wants to lash out at Victor.

Despite the small kingpin’s hostile body language, Victor continues to press.

“Are you gonna let Edward keep bringin’ you down?”

Oswald growls as his right hand swings back to slap Victor, but he stops himself— _just barely_. He relents his scowl as large dark eyes hold steady on him. Victor’s expression something he’s never seen before. The pale man before him appears woeful; it’s not so much written on his face as it is in his eyes. Victor’s typical narrowed and calculating gaze is absent and in its place are large luminous pools, pleading perhaps even searching as they remain locked onto his eyes.

Oswald lowers his right hand and clasps it with his left; he nervously wrings them together. A bitterness coils deep inside for daring to strike at Zsasz. Not because he knows that gunman is dangerous and unpredictable but because he genuinely likes the man. Whether or not their tentative business and personal relationship remains intact, he deeply respects Victor. And he knows the assassin, to some extent, reciprocates the feeling.

“What am I supposed to do, Victor? Leave him to suffer an unknown fate by her hands?”

“Well… **_yeah_**. He’d probably try to kill you again if he got the chance.”

As soon as the words exited Victor’s mouth he knew it was too late to recant them. The small kingpin was already in a _mood_ , he didn’t want to keep adding to it. He watches as Oswald’s right hand clutches at his abdominals. Victor had heard from Ivy about the condition Oswald was found in when she retrieved him from Gotham Bay. He was shot at point blank range; the man was lucky the bullet wound was treatable. He knows Oswald is grabbing where The Riddler shot him, after deeming him worthy of death.

_Too much drama._

_Yet…_

_...here I am._

_Complicatin’ shit to hell and back._

He feels a knot in his gut again. His thoughts begin to question loudly in his mind.

_What’ll I do once I've killed him?_

_What then?_

_Go back south and lead a life mapped out for me? Be somethin’ I’m not?_

Victor swallows. He’s never thought about or even entertained the idea of abandoning Carmine. The old man wants him to become his replacement and keep the Falcone business going. Victor loves power and being the head of a crime organization would give him just that. But it’s not the life he would have picked for himself. He would rather be an untethered man, pursuing contract kills to his heart’s content. Although, remaining in Gotham at the service of a powerful boss like Oswald definitely has its perks as well.

 _There’ll_ **_never_ ** _be ‘nother like Penguin…_ **_ever_** _._

Victor frowns and questions himself.

_What am I tryna to talk myself into… or outta?_

Oswald looks up, heartbroken. Victor doesn’t know what to make of his surprising and unsettling thoughts. There is _no_ _love_ developing in his black heart; he discards that idea right out the window. But what he does know is that if he kills Oswald, he will forever lay to rest someone who has made a mark on his life. He furrows his brow as he stares into those large green eyes. His body twitches.

He feels himself moving _forward_.

He’s _embracing_ Oswald.

Zsasz blinks.

Oswald crumbles when he feels those strong arms wrap around his shoulders, drawing him in. He rests his head on Victor’s shoulder, his thick pea coat is warm, comforting, and smells wholly of the gunman. He wraps his arms around Victor and says between gasps and shudders.

“I know, but I can not leave him to die by anyone else’s hand but my own.”

Victor scoffs and shakes his head.

_Unbelievable._

“Yeah, I _do_ understand. But…”

Victor grabs Oswald by the shoulders and pulls him off of him to look him in the eyes.

“I can’t be by your side if you go through with whatever demands Sofia might have. She stands against her father and the remainin’ Falcone loyalist.”

Victor shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. This is the second time now that he’s blurted out Falcone business to Oswald. He opens his eyes and continues.

_The damage is done._

“Don’t be fooled; she’s no ally even though she stands against the capos remainin’ in Gotham. She has somethin’ to prove and you’re in her way.”

Oswald takes a moment to process the unfiltered statement from Victor’s lips.

“You knew all of this before coming back to me; didn’t you?”

Victor beams a lopsided grin and shrugs. His eyes never faltering from Oswald’s clear, analytical gaze. He merely offers a short answer.

“It’s Falcone business.”

Oswald’s expression turns sour; he heads to his minibar and pours himself a large stiff drink. He thinks on what Victor said and his ultimatum. He takes out his phone and types one word to Fries. Though the man is still in his normal human form, he asked Fries to keep his weapon close in case they need to rush out to get Edward.

 

 _Come_.

 

Oswald places his phone on the minibar and drinks down his glass. He finally turns around; his expression resolute and head held high. Although, inside he is dying; what he’s about to say spills painfully from his lips.

“Zsasz…”

Victor’s head tilts at Oswald’s address. He notices the small man is using his surname and not his first. Him texting out to someone did not go unnoticed either. Victor is now on guard; the corners of his mouth pull down as his body goes stiff.

“I wanted what was happening between us to be real. I was fooling myself, wasn’t I?”

Victor doesn’t answer but keeps his gaze level.

Oswald scoffs and shakes his head. His face pinched in pain as he asks.

“Do you care about me? Do you feel _anything_ at all for me?”

Victor doesn’t budge. He shakes his head and states flatly.

“I can’t give you what you want because I don’t _feel_ it. _I never will._ ”

Zsasz narrows his eyes as he slithers up to Oswald.

“Is this really shockin’ news?”

Oswald looks away; his chest constricts painfully.

“You and I are done. Leave.”

Victor shakes his head slowly; he juts his jaw out indignantly; he asserts.

“I didn’t lie to you. The first day I saw you… _I wanted you_. _That’s the truth, Oswald_.”

Oswald closes his eyes to keep himself from looking upon the assassin. Victor’s confession alone threatens to make him second guess his decision. He inhales sharply and growls under his breath.

“Leave… _now_. While you still can."

Victor hears a metallic whirring sound behind him; he turns his head and raises an eyebrow. Fries is standing at the entrance of the meeting hall, his weapon in his hand— _primed and aimed at him_. There’s a triumphant smirk at his lips.

“You heard him. Start walking.”

Zsasz scowls at Fries; teeth flashing as his body quivers with murderous intent. He quickly looks back at Oswald; the small man has turned his back on him to retrieve his drink. He sighs and turns to leave; striding past Fries. The nozzle of the large weapon follows his retreat.

Fries escorts Zsasz out; his freeze ray ready to blast the pale gunman if he makes any sudden movements. He purrs at the back of Victor’s head.

“I would love to ice you and smash you into itty bitty ice cubes. If you come around again it _will_ happen.”

Zsasz refrains from acknowledging Fries’s taunt; he continues out the mansion doors. He seethes as he fantasizes strapping Freeze to a large barbecue rack and roasting him alive. He calls out to Tash as soon as he gets in his car; his lead immediately speaks.

“Boss, it’s done. We planted the trackers on all vehicles.”

“Okay, we’re done here; inform the others. Have the security forces on standby. Lettem’ know we’ll call when more work becomes available. For now, let’s meet up at our alternate HQ. Sofia has the upper hand.”

“Boss, Sofia’s plan for the GCPD is already underway. Five cops have been killed.”

“Damn. Okay. I’ll be at alt HQ in thirty.”

Victor turns on his car and begins pulling away when he notices Bridgit lugging cans to a truck from a service doorway to the mansion. He gets an itch and smiles to himself; Victor coasts over and parks; he hops out of his vehicle and chirps.

“Yo, Firefly.”

Bridgit turns and regards Victor.

“Hey.”

Victor smiles brightly and asks.

“I don’t suppose you’re willin’ to part with one of your torches? Name your price.”

Bridgit sets two fuel canisters onto the truck bed and thinks. She beams a large smile as she purrs.

“One grand.”

Her red fiery eyes light up as a thought enters her head. She puts her hands on her hips and leans into Victor.

“You gonna use it on Freeze?”

Zsasz beams a lopsided grin and shrugs.

Bridgit laughs and nods.

“I want pics if you do.”

Zsasz reaches into his jacket for his money clip and a business card.

“You got it. Say, if you ever find yourself wantin’ different employment, let me know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So SORRY for the past due posting on the latest installment. There might be an even longer delay for future chapters only because I want to make sure the plot jives and that means writing the final chapters in one long haul. That means I will post incrementally after I’m done. 
> 
> The reason for this is because I have to go back into the previous chapters to tweak things to smooth it out. I don’t wanna keep doing that so I’m going to stop here and finish the rest of the story before posting.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> ~FC


	9. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author notes and art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Just wanted to interject again that I’m going through and writing the entirety of the last half of this fic in one long go. Just wanted it known I haven’t slacked on my duties to provide the rest of this story; I promise! 
> 
> Well....okay maybe a little slack was had, here and there. Art and general ogling of Anthony Carrigan photos. Also farm life that get tends to get in the way... but I digress.
> 
> I’m actively dreaming up some demented shit to give you all some juicy content. For instance, dark non-con chapter, more Carmine and Zsasz relationship and the sweet and nasty preoccupation Victor has with Oswald. Maybe a bit more Gorzsasz too... okay maybe a lot. =3
> 
> ~FC


	10. Paroxysms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor decides to bring some stress relief back home only to have an unexpected visitor waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a non-con chapter and though most of the actions are implied or inferred, there are still things that are somewhat detailed. Just FYI.

 

— 卌 —

 

Tash approaches the rigid silhouette against the backdrop of the darkening afternoon vista. Their two story alternate HQ location is every bit as modern and accommodating as their larger main base. The only difference is this location isn’t in the heart of the city, but on the outskirts surrounded by fishmongers and overlooking a dirty murky bay. 

She and the other girls never liked this location, not only because it stinks of fish carcasses but because it felt too much like they have been exiled out of Gotham.

Victor hasn’t moved from the window in over ten minutes. He appears consumed in pervading thoughts she rather not guess at. She sighs and reaches out a hand to caress the back of Victor’s neck. She lightly traces her long nails up the back of his head; a small smile graces her face when the stiff man offers a small shudder. She continues to softly stroke the smooth skin; Victor’s tense stance melts a bit more but he’s yet to acknowledge her presence.

“Want to talk?”

The silence that follows is deafening; the space between them feels vacuumed and distant. Tash drops her hand back to her side knowing better than to press Zsasz when he gets this way, like he does at times. She turns and walks towards the stairs that leads to the team’s temporary quarters.

After a moment or two Victor turns; a huge lopsided grin plastered on his face. He drawls out.

“What’s there to say? Sofia was quicker. Penguin’s made his decision so I had to accept it.”

Tash halts in her tracks, an eyebrow quirked high on her smooth brow as she spins on a heel to respond.

“Us planting low jacks on his vehicles—that was you _accepting_ his decision?”

Victor shrugs.

“I said I accepted it but doesn’t mean I won’t watch for an opportunity to foil Sofia.”

Tash nods once and sucks at her teeth. She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help fling a wary eye his way. She gathers her strength and mentions.

“The girls are on shifts to keep track. I’m a head to bed.”

Victor raises an eyebrow and calls to Tash’s retreating form.

“You don’t approve.”

The tall dark-skinned beauty turns as she reaches the staircase to the top level. She shakes her head and coolly replies.

“It’s not for me to approve of; however, I don’t understand _why_. We’re not getting paid for this.”

Victor’s mouth pulls down as he tilts his head the other way, his dark gaze falls to the floor. He can count on one hand the number of times Tash has questioned his decisions in all the years they’ve been together. Whatever is on her mind he is certain it will sting deep to hear. He swallows; unsure if he can take her criticism especially when everything feels unknown and possibly lost.

Tash inhales a deep breath. She’s known Victor when she worked security for Carmine Falcone; back when he was just a young man barely out of his teens. She is also the only one on the team that knows of his _hobbies._ She made it her job to understand the killer she works for. She’s seen how Victor reacts to people who overstep their familiarity with him. 

She has been long aware that Victor is conflicted, even if the self-possessed man will not openly admit it, even to himself.

Tash takes a step towards Victor and continues.

“We swore to follow you anywhere...”

Victor growls through clenched teeth. This takes Tash off-guard as her next words catch at the back of her throat. His head levels as he locks his gaze onto her. He can tell she is holding back and skirting the issue she so desperately wants to air out.

“You are tellin’ me nothin’ I don’t know!”

Tash nods as her brow crinkles. Though she is closer to Victor than the other girls; she always errs on the side of caution when engaging openly with the dangerous man. Victor is a professional killer, that has never made her blink twice; the whole team are professional killers. However, this other part of Victor that only she and Carmine are aware of, is different— **_inhuman_**. She often thinks of him as a leashed wolf; a wild animal allowed to wander amongst normal people. This dark and feral side of Victor always gives her pause and no matter how long she’s known the man or how level-headed he appears to be, she will never fully trust him.

She can sense that Victor needs a push but doing so requires a delicate touch and even then the man has proven to be unpredictable.

Victor’s attention is grabbed when a stark beam of sunlight makes a rare appearance through the thick cloud cover. Tash replies with the same level of cool.

“I was going to say it’s nice to be back in the city. Everyone figured we would be packing and heading back south. Now that Penguin… ”

Victor clenches his fists as he swiftly interjects.

_“We still have a job here.”_

His eyes never tear from the rare sight of light hitting the cold gray waters of the bay.

Tash sighs, frustrated with how dismissive the man is becoming.

“ _A job?_ Zsasz, we were fired! There’s no reason why we should be tailing Penguin.”

She inwardly cringes at her exasperated tone.

Zsasz flashes a large grin. There were a number of reasons he likes Tash, but the one thing he values most is her uncanny ability for outside narration; something he lacks when he needs it the most. He indulges the woman as he asks.

“So, what do you think I should do?”

Tash shakes her head. She decides to let Victor have it. After all her years of working closely with the man and his insistence on tormenting himself with Oswald, she is finally going to speak her mind.

“Victor, Penguin snaps his fingers and you are there at his side like a _goddamn_ genie. I know it’s not about the money or the job, it’s about _him._ Why?” 

Tash shakes her head, her breath forcefully expelling from her flared nostrils. She swallows, her mouth goes sour as she spits out the rest.

“You’re not one to get attached to _anyone_ but it seems you are— _to him_! Of all your past hunts, he is the only one that makes you go running wild and you do this at the expense of Carmine’s fury. The don made his thoughts on Penguin’s life and his hold on Gotham known to everyone. You doing all this, is _spitting_ in his face. This is a bad situation you’ve placed us in, Zsasz.”

Tash’s body grows tense with each moment that passes. She refuses to offer an apology; she wants her words to hang in the air to allow Victor time to process it all. 

Zsasz nods his head as his mouth purses tightly. His eye begins to twitch; it perturbs him that she can read him so well. Her words cut with surgical precision, slicing each malignant piece of him out like blackened tumors to be examined.

_Well, I asked._

He snakes his way over to stand before her. His head bobbing as he mulls over her words; his smooth brow crinkled with indignation. He plants himself a few inches from his team lead not meaning to intimidate her but he does nevertheless. He can feel her air; her body tenses with his proximity. He gives it no consideration; he only wants to stress the severity of his next sentence. He eyes her; his voice low, measured. There’s an edge to his tone that punctuates each word as he speaks.

“You still _haven’t_ told me what _you_ think I should do.”

Tash’s large brown eyes hold steady on Victor as she smoothly replies.

“Forget about Penguin. He’s not worth the trouble.”

Victor’s unwavering gaze holds steady for a few protracted moments. He finally breaks the tension as he shrugs; he strides past her as he flatly states.

“Point taken. Get some rest. I’m goin’ out. Call me when Oswald moves.”

 

—J—

 

Jim slumps against a shrapnel riddled wall. His legs extended before him; he flails as he tries to stand. The world is tilting and doubled within his tunnel vision. His limbs jerk to find purchase on the ground in hopes of hoisting himself up and away from the debris all around. His confusion refuses to clear as he rolls onto his knees; he groans. He knows he got hit, but where is hard to pinpoint. His whole body is vibrating— _thrumming_. 

He remembers he heard a click then scrambling back out of the building and diving for the asphalt. He barely got out of there in time. 

A weird and odd pressure keeps him from using his right arm. He frowns as he palms the wound on his shoulder. He pulls back a wet and sticky blood-covered hand.

He hears muffled shouts through the ringing in his ears; strained and worried voices call out. He plops back onto his ass; the pain is slowly working through the adrenaline. He feels a hand on his face and the out-of-focus visage of his friend Harvey. He looks frightened and distraught; Jim smiles weakly. 

Harvey coughs and gasps through the cloud of debris, his hand stroking Jim’s pallor face.

“Jim!!! Jim! Oh shit! I thought I lost yea!”

Jim blinks a couple of times and croaks out.

“Harv… “

Detective Harper comes rushing through small alley and joins Captain Bullock by Jim’s side. She notices that the detective is wounded badly on his shoulder. His shredded clothing expose the multiple lacerations all over. Harper quickly squats down to Jim’s side. 

Harvey does a quick assessment.

“Jimbo! Ah damn! I don’t see nothin’ blowed off. Are you okay?!”

Jim nods, his ears are still ringing from the explosions. He feels an arm wrapping around his tender sides; Harper is bracing herself as she peers up at Harvey.

“Captain, let’s get him out of here. No telling if there are more traps in this building.”

Jim feels Harvey come down to wrap another arm around him. He groans as the grips around him tug on his wounds. His two rescuers try to coordinate as smoothly as possible moving him through an obstacle riddled alleyway. 

 

___

 

The next day late afternoon.

Jim watches as Harper enters the hospital room, she’s carrying his prescriptions and a small bag from the hospital general store. An orderly stands by to assist with getting Jim out of bed and into the wheelchair.

“I got your medications and a few other supplies. I can take you home now. Harvey insists you take your full convalescent days no matter how you _think_ you feel.”

Harper offers a small smile and a raised eyebrow.

Jim looks up at his partner and nods once. His pain is blissfully mitigated by the painkillers. Though he feels a dull muted ache all over, his mind is worse for wear. The cop killer, everyone is now calling _The Pig_ , ambushed an on duty cop. Officer Romero was new to the force. She had a husband and youth _hopes and dreams_ for their future. 

He was first to get to the scene; the video message the killer sent to the precinct insisted she didn’t have much time. In the video it showed her strapped to a chair with wires going to a device promising to deliver a lethal current of electricity through her. 

Jim, in his foolhardy rush to save the young officer, inadvertently set off a trap. He threw caution to the wind and went blasting through the doors. The sick bastard had placed a large pig head over her. He can still hear her cries as she struggled in her bindings. Then the soft click of an explosive device activating.

He was lucky to escape with so little injuries.

Harper can tell that Jim is lost in his own thoughts. She lets out a soft sigh and offers.

“We’ll get him, Jim.”

Jim snaps his gaze at his partner and growls.

“Doesn’t do Officer Romero any good. She’s gone!”

Harper swallows as her gaze falters. She inhales and nods as she softly replies. 

“I know, Jim. She was a good cop. We can honor her memory by keeping our wits about us.”

She watches as Jim’s eyes fall to the floor. She’s sure that the detective blames himself for what happened. The situation was a no-win scenario and a decision had to be made quickly. She decides to change the subject.

“We got some news on that delivery service you wanted to check up on. We’re bringing the manager in for questioning.”

Jim’s agitated state, though mitigated with drugs, doesn’t lessen with the news. His anger at being _out of the fight_ worsening with each moment spent sitting on the hospital bed. He huffs at his physical state.  

His right arm hangs in a thin sling to keep him from moving while his shoulder heals. His face suffered minor cuts and shrapnel. His back and legs took the brunt of the blast. He has many lacerations that had to be stitched up and bits of debris that were removed. His skin is tight and unforgiving of the smallest of movements. Thankfully, he’s unable to feel the full scope of his injuries.

The orderly rolls the wheelchair over and says.

“Detective Gordon, let’s get you up and into this chair.”

Harper comes to Jim’s injured side as the orderly carefully helps Jim up.

“Let’s get you home. Harvey said he will come and check on you as soon as he can. He’s been in a lot of meetings since yesterday. I got you some food from Dion’s food truck. Harvey said you just _love_ those horrible burnt sandwiches so I got you a couple.” 

Jim winces as the orderly helps him place his feet in the stir-ups of the wheelchair. He knows that Harper is trying to steer his darkened mood into lighter topics. He cradles his head in his left hand, unable and unwilling to listen to anything. He yearns for the oblivion that comes with prescription relief. 

 

 

— 卌 —

 

A restored all black Imperial slowly rolls down an alley. It’s high intensity discharge headlights usher back the permeating darkness. A low whirring can be heard as a garage door lifts, spilling a red light from its confinement within. Once the door is fully opened, the car backs into the private space. The deep rumble of the V-8 engine ceases it’s combustion purr as the garage doors begin closing again.

Victor exits his car. Once he reaches the door to his home he casts a smug smile towards the trunk of his car. A care package is safely stowed inside, one that will help relieve some _frustrations_. 

He enters the spacious foyer as he thinks on the order of operations for his night with his new toy. His kill room is clean and ready but he wants to place the torch he purchased from Firefly into the cement room before lugging his prey in. He also wants to ensure his powered ventilation system is functional and ready. 

He strolls the main floor of his two story brownstone. The interior of the building is restored to its 1920s glory days. Dark wood box molding walls, opulent coffered ceilings adorned with copper inlays, and all original antique light fixtures. The hardwood floors are also restored and patched where needed. The rich dark woods continue up the stairs and throughout the upper level. On the second floor lies Victor’s master suite and safe room for his weapons which occupies a significant amount of square footage in the large space. 

Victor is a minimalist when it comes to the interior of his home. The main floor is devoid of furnishings; the emptiness echoes his steady footfalls. The only areas he has bothered to mark with his presence are the kitchen and dining room. 

His kitchen is the only space that is outfitted like any other regular home. He has an array of devices and appliances to aid in his continual pursuit of culinary perfection. The dining room is mostly empty except for a small custom built table and a single high back chair. He never invites anyone to his home and he is rarely around to enjoy his private space. Another reason he doesn’t bother with furnishing or personal mementos— _if he had any._

He heads to the back porch that looks out into a small stoned in patio; he left the torch and tank there. He’s about to open the double doors when he hears the sounds of a metal utensil hitting the sides of a cup in the kitchen. He immediately unholsters a Sig and heads in that direction. 

The soft glow of the island lights cast a golden hue into the small hallway. He can smell the smoky aromatics of Lapsang Souchong tea along with the faint and unmistakable hints of cologne. Notes of citrus, lavender, pine, musk, and black pepper offer a clean and commanding scent.

_Carmine._

His hard visage softens immediately as he reholsters his gun and quickly enters his kitchen.

Victor blinks when he finally lays eyes upon Don Falcone. The older man has his suit jacket off and the cuffs of his shirt rolled up. Victor watches as  Carmine sprinkles a bit of clove into the cup. He has yet to acknowledge his presence. Victor enters and stands off to the side of the lavish kitchen island.

“Would you like some Sfogliatelle?”

Carmine lifts his cup and replies.

“Thanks but just the tea.”

Victor approaches as Carmine fills another cup; the older man holds it out to him. Zsasz takes the offering and sips.

Carmine eyes Victor and smiles.

“I didn’t come to interrupt your play time; bring your prey in.”

Zsasz hesitates as he sucks in his lower lip and shakes his head. Matters of pleasure can wait; he rather spend time with his don. 

Carmine raises a hand to assuage the man.

“I understand you and Sofia recently clashed. She’s currently making a mess of things in Gotham. You need to unwind. We can talk afterwards.”

Victor sets his cup down and approaches Carmine. He takes his right hand, turning it to expose the palm. He nods as he brings the warm scented skin to his lips. He places a soft lingering kiss within; a small whimper escapes him. He nuzzles his cheek to it as fingers softly grasp his face. His shoulders droop as his head presses harder into the caress. If he could, he would curl himself into Carmine’s hand, laying himself bare and at his total mercy. He gazes into crystal blue eyes; their clarity unblemished by the passing of decades.

Carmine strokes Victor’s face as he pulls him in closer. His thumb traces over full parted lips. He leans in closer as his other hand rests on the other cheek.

“What have you brought to play with tonight?”

Zsasz laps at the soft thumb pad; he inhales deeply. His body shudders with delight, his eyes heavy and lidded as a moan escapes him. The faded notes of the old man’s cologne coupled with stark metallic notes (... more than likely his keys) and salt, grace his palette. The taste intoxicates him, reminding him of _home_. It takes him a moment to regain himself before he’s able to reply.

“A living effigy of an annoyance.”

Carmine kisses Victor on the forehead.

“Do you mind if I watch?”

Victor’s eyes light up. It had been a long time since Carmine last spectated and even longer since he’s participated. Victor’s enthusiasm for his murderous hobby isn’t exactly shared by Don Falcone, but Carmine has joined in on a couple of occasions. 

He kisses Carmine’s hand one more time and replies.

“I want you to watch.”

Zsasz smiles from ear to ear before turning and striding out of the kitchen.

Carmine takes the dirty cups and teapot to wash them while Victor prepares the prey. 

Victor flings his car trunk open. He beams a large toothy smile down at his terrified catch. 

It’s the boy from auction night at The Foxglove. Victor decided to throw caution into the wind and lure the boy to him. The boy maybe strong but he was no match for a 1200 volt stun gun. The real challenge was getting him into the trunk once he was disoriented; the boy’s mass is comparable to his own. 

Victor had been lucky. Solange wasn’t there that night, but her head of security saw him. Victor feigned he was there to talk to a couple of his favorite drag queens and relax for the evening.

He slipped the boy a message asking him to meet up in one of the upstairs private quarters. He then convinced the adonis to secretly escape with him outside, promising dinner and shopping.

The pro’s arms are bound behind him with thick leather cuffs at his wrists and long leather strips expertly wrapped and knotted up his arms ensuring the prisoner can’t swing them to the front of his body. His legs are strapped together at the thighs, knees and ankles with another set of leather strips. 

He yanks the boy out by his jacket and glides him to the floor. The boy feebly struggles and screams as best as he can through the cloth gag. Victor squats over him and beams him a grin. He reaches out and strokes the soft locks off his handsome face before pulling the gag out from his mouth.

The boy inhales deeply and rapidly. His eyes barely able to focus as he battles to regain his breath. Victor smacks the struggling captive on the cheek a few times to snap him out of it.

“Hey, gonna need you to calm down just a little.”

The boy stammers as he regains just a bit of his senses. His eyes watering, his voice rough and begging.

“Is...is this us r..r..roleplaying?”

Victor’s grin disappears. He places an index finger over his own lips and expels a long soft…

“Shhhhhhhhhhh.”

The boy struggles wildly at his binds as he grunts and gasps. His face red and contorted in terror. Victor watches in glee as the boy finally gives up after his meager attempt; his soft laughter echoes in the garage. Victor swoops down to grab at the ankle binds; he wraps his hands around the leather and begins pulling the supine man along with him. 

The screams and sobs of the captive echo and reverberate throughout the empty main floor. Carmine places the cups and teapot exactly the way he found them. He then ensures not one blemish remains on the granite counter top of the island. 

He looks out of the kitchen windows to the home across the way. Victor has neighbors on either side; _old money_ heirs that rarely inhabit their lavish estates during the fall and winter seasons. 

_The boy could scream and no one would ever hear him. Victor's thorough and careful in keeping different places to partake of his indulgences. Such a far cry from the impulsive young man many years ago._

Carmine ensures the cuffs to his shirt are still secured at his elbows then removes his rings and watch, placing them in his suit coat pockets. He removes his tie and folds it neatly, placing it on top of his jacket. He wanders to Victor’s pantry and retrieves a bottle of scotch and two crystal scotch glasses. 

He makes his way towards Victor who is lugging a man across the floor by his feet. The man is bound and on his back, but Carmine can tell this prey is vastly different from Victor’s usual small effeminate marks. He raises an eyebrow as he waits at the panel to a secret elevator built into the grand staircase.

Victor notices the bottle and two glasses; his blood rushes with the promise of what is to come. Carmine’s past involvements with play time were always when he drinks.

Carmine studies the blubbering mess at their feet.

“Hmm, he’s different than your usual. He’s tall, muscular and ...white-haired. Oh….”

Carmine raises an eyebrow at Victor.

“Mr. Freeze?”

Victor grins from ear to ear.

“He is for tonight.”

Victor drags the boy into the waiting elevator. The boy sobs and begs as he peers up at Carmine.

“Pl..Please, help me! I’m not Freeze! Don’t let him hurt me! Please!”

Carmine turns his attention to Victor and ignores the sobbing boy.

“I take it he’s caused you trouble.”

Zsasz nods; he presses the down button.

The boy shouts out through his sobs.

“I”m not Freeze! I’m Sean! My name’s Sean!”

Victor flashes his lower teeth as his shoulders tense tight. He stomps a foot on the boy’s neck and shifts his weight to bare down hard. He steadies himself on the elevator wall and hisses.

“Stop shoutin’, it makes me _very_ hostile.” 

The doors open to the lower level. Carmine exits first. He wanders to a small sitting area that Victor keeps just for him. There is a protectant plastic cover over the small table and leather chair. Victor hurries over and unsheathes the area. He folds the plastic sheet and takes it to a backroom where he stores tools and an assortment of items for his pastime endeavours. Then beyond the store room is the furnace for waste disposal afterwards.

Carmine pours the scotch into the glasses and sets them on the small coffee table then makes himself comfortable on the leather chair. He digs into his front pants pocket and takes out an etched gold Yhouse cigarette holder. He slides out a _Black Devil_ chocolate-flavored cigarette. He removes a small matchbook and strikes a stick; the feel of the long first draw always brings a sense of calm and pleasure. He exhales a large plume as he crosses his legs.

Victor returns with an ashtray and sets it by Carmine’s drink.

Carmine nods; he reclines back and watches on.

He always admired Victor’s methodicalness with his preparatory rituals. The man busily attaches a metal yoke and a collar to the boy’s neck. The barbaric metal apparatus has two metal cuffs on the other end of the yoke. Victor leaves the metal cuffs dangling till he is able to remove the straps wrapped around the boy’s arms. He turns his attention to another set of metal cuffs with a bar spreader. He tries to get one ankle cuff on but the boy bucks and thrashes wildly. 

Victor stands and huffs. Carmine shakes his head.

_The captives always struggle the hardest when the metal restraints are brought out._

Zsasz digs into his coat as his eyes flash at his victim. He retrieves the stun gun; a deep cackles escapes as he presses the device to the boy’s back.

The sound of snapping electricity and a deep gurgling wail fills the kill room.

Carmine drinks his glass down and preoccupies himself with his cigarette. Victor goes about removing the leather straps from the boy’s limbs. He quickly spreads the captive’s legs and affixes the spreader. He then twists the limp arms into the cuffs at the yoke. He positions the captive on his knees. Victor stands and reaches for a hoist hook and dangling controls. He lowers the hook and attaches it to a loop on the neck cuff. He lifts the hook just high enough to keep the prisoner on his knees. He then attaches a length of chain with d-clips on either end; one on the spreader bar and the other end at the neck cuff. This is to keep the captive from standing and thrashing out of control

He watches as Victor saunters his way over to him. He hands him a glass with a shot’s worth of scotch swirling at the bottom.

Victor downs the amber liquid in one gulp and sets the glass on the small table. He beams Carmine a small smile that soon fades as he falls to his knees and slithers in between the man’s legs. 

Carmine rolls his nearly spent cigarette in between his fingers, averting his eyes from Victor; the desperation disgusts him. He can’t stand seeing his lethal killer vying for affection like a needy child. He slides another cigarette from his case and lights it with the fading embers of the first. 

Victor yanks off his gloves and runs his hands up Carmine’s chest. The soft feel of his button down shirt is pleasant and warm; the body underneath always hidden from him. His hands continue to travel as they find the backrest of the leather chair. He grips down and leans in. 

Carmine’s eyes flash as he take’s Victor’s chin in his hand. The smooth face is mere inches from his own; their eyes locked onto each other. His displeasure with his _rogue_ prodigy keeps him from giving in. He pushes Victor’s face back and turns his head, unwilling to indulge the boy with a kiss. His eyes narrow as he nods towards the dangling sobbing mess on the mats. He drops his hand and reaches for the bottle to pour himself another drink.

Victor’s mouth pulls down as he sits back on his heels. There’s not much in the world that hurts him except for Carmine’s disdain. The subtle rejection stings deep; he hangs his head for a moment before joining his prey. 

Victor leans over and whispers in the boy’s ear.

“How you holdin’ up? Sorry for that last stun. I didn’t want you freakin’ out while I was in the middle of gettin’ you secured”

Sean turns his head and spits in Victor’s face. He glares as he gnashes his teeth.

“Fuck you!”

Carmine smirks and shakes his head.

_This one has some balls, unlike those small pretty things Victor usually collects. It was always so much fun watching him have his way with them. He always took care to not scare them so quickly._

Victor’s closes his eyes as he stands. He wipes the thick spittle from his left eye. He nods as he casually strides back to his storage room. He comes out with a pair of heavy duty bone shears.

Carmine raises an eyebrow, shocked that Victor would go for blood so quickly.

_This Freeze must have really set Zsasz off._

Victor quickly descends onto the writhing captive’s back. He grasps a digit, and slowly applies pressure with the shears. He flashes his teeth as the sharp metal edges slowly sink into his flesh. The boy screams.

Carmine smiles at Victor’s glee. His prodigy begins laughing as he bares down and snips the boy’s pinky off. The dismembered digit rolls down the boy’s back but Victor swipes it before it hits the ground.

Victor brings the pinky around to the pro’s sweaty tear-stained face; his color gone deathly pallid. He begins shuddering.

“Keep being disrespectful and I’ll snip off each finger and toe in the same manner.”

Victor tosses the bit of flesh over his shoulder as he flashes all of his teeth in a sadistic smile. 

He leans over to look at the boy whose struggles and cries have begun to lessen. The boy is white as a sheet and his lashes fluttering as his eyes begin to roll up into his head.

“Are you seriously gonna pass out over a pinky? This night is gonna be _hell_ for you.”

He smacks the boy’s face a few times; he comes to and immediately sobs.

Carmine watches as the boy’s near limp form begins to falter. The neck collar attached to the hoist, keeps his body from falling over. Small amounts of blood begin dripping onto the rubber mats. The boy wobbles and teeters as he skirts the edge of consciousness. 

Victor takes out a sharp blade; he kneels by the boy and begins slicing his clothing off. Each ragged piece along with shoes are tossed over by a bare cement wall. He stands and heads to a central light switch panel and dims the lights. He then flicks another; a spot light shines on the body of his naked prisoner.

Zsasz approaches Carmine as he runs his fingertips over the edge of the backrest of the leather chair. He pours himself another shot and stands before his don.

Carmine watches as Victor makes a show of standing before him. Victor’s form is silhouetted against the bright lights that illuminate the tableau of the night’s event. 

Victor takes off his wool jacket, he throws it on the floor next to Carmine. He begins taking off his waist coat, belt holster and his button up shirt. He shrugs out of his gun holster and carefully lays it with his coat. He then strips the top layers off and lays them the on the floor.

Carmine smiles as his eyes follow the smooth movements of the body before him. Finely honed arms flex and ripple as Zsasz continues his task of stripping. 

Victor flings his pants and underwear off his leg and stands before his don fully nude. Carmine beckons him over as he pats his lap; the assassin wastes no time. He straddles the old man as he gingerly rests a little of his weight on him; his hands gripping the backrest of the chair. 

Carmine eyes the creamy quads over his own thighs. He palms the warm smooth skin; the muscle underneath quivers. His hands travel to Victor’s hips; his thumbs stroking taut obliques as his palms continue their exploration to the back. 

Victor nudges in closer; his erection pulsing against Carmine’s chest. He bites his lower lip when the exploring caresses rest on his ass cheeks; both hands begin clamping down. He presses his body in tighter to give the man more ass to grab.

Carmine smirks as his hands massage and grip onto the ample posterior. He suddenly whispers.

“Go play.”

Victor lets loose a small whimper, but quickly stands and joins his sobbing prey in the light.

Carmine squints as Victor’s body shines in the harsh white light; the man’s skin brighter than alabaster. Scars of the killer’s self inflicted scores prominent against the backdrop of untouched flesh. 

Victor threads his hands through the boy’s hair as he purrs with satisfaction. He yanks the boy’s head back, he tsks a few times as he whispers.

“Don’t worry it will all be over with— eventually.”

 

___

 

Carmine is into his fifth glass of scotch and third cigarette. He watches as Victor’s body ripples with each thrust. His obliques, quads, lats, and traps flex and move in perfect harmony. 

The flawlessness of Victor’s backside with it’s untouched skin beckons to be stroked. Carmine sets his half smoked cigarette in the ashtray and approaches the euphoric man. Victor has been at the boy for about thirty minutes now, releasing his frustrations through sexual energy.

The boy’s body hangs limp, having mercifully passed out from the pain and torture Victor subjected him to before violating him. The boy’s face dangles partially removed along with an eyeball and some of his scalp.

Carmine has seen Victor enacted some horrendous torture before; this was nothing new to him. What concerns him is the wild narration and mutterings Victor snarled in his bloodlust. Ramblings about Freeze getting in the way also the vow to destroy his beauty.

_Victor obviously has a deep hatred of this Freeze._

Carmine raises a brow in realization.

_He’s jealous._

He reaches out his hand and strokes Victor’s head. The sweaty blood-smeared man gazes up through his foggy ecstacy. His thrusting becomes fervent; the off-cadence slaps of his body ramming into the dangling boy echo in the space. 

Carmine runs his finger tips down taut trapezius muscles before lowering himself to get perpendicular to Victor. The pale man’s thrusting becomes more erratic; heavy grunts and groans hoarsely emit from parted lips. Carmine lightly strokes down Victor’s face and leans in.

Victor reaches out and takes Carmine's face with his left hand while his other hand remains grasping at the bound arms of his captive. 

Their kiss deep as tongues wrestle together in a frenzy. Heavy breaths turn to gasping as the assassin explodes deep inside. Victor pulls away, struggling to breathe. Carmine watches on as he grinds deeply into the body before him.

Victor shivers as his spent body ceases undulating. He quickly pulls out and wraps Carmine in an embrace. He knows that his don hates neediness, but he doesn’t care.

He _needs_ to feel _him_.

He _wants_ to feel connected to  _him_.

He _needs_ to be _his_  favorite.

Carmine shifts to place his hands on his shoulders. Victor obliges the subtle coaxing as he’s pushed down onto his back. He watches breathlessly as Carmine unzips and pulls down his pants. The old man lifts his shirt to reach his erection. 

Victor opens his legs and eagerly anticipates the penetration. He closes his eyes and bites his lower lip.

Carmine begins pumping himself as he tents his body over Victor. He smirks as two large eyes snap open and gaze up— _disappointed_. Victor’s smooth voice cracks as he begs.

“ _Please_ … “

Carmine grins as he continues to pump himself; refusing Victor what he has always desired of him. So many times in the past his young prodigy has tried seducing him into his depraved acts; to touch, feel and take. Every time, he’s thwarted the young man’s advances.

His eyes devour the scene before him; Victor writhing under him covered in blood and sweat. His fair skin smooth and flawless under carefully placed scars that record his high kill count. He would be lying if he denied thoughts of sinking himself into the offered flesh.

His hand works faster when Victor reaches up to kiss his throat. A soft whimper emits as Victor flops back onto the floor. A leg wraps around him, pulling him in closer as a hand gently coaxes him to bring his worked erection down in-between wide spread legs. Carmine shudders when he feels the quivering muscle on the tip of his dick.

Carmine shakes his head; he snatches Victor’s neck with his free hand; placing his entire weight on it as he continues to masturbate. He sneers down; his beautiful killer is only turned more with the forceful handling. His cock throbs as he watches Victor in the throes of sexual urgency, undone and begging. He groans as his release peaks and spills forth. He pumps himself empty, splattering his essence all over the creamy white skin underneath him

Zsasz moans with delight when he feels the hot gush of cum on his stomach. He reaches down and wipes his fingers through the sticky mess and quickly brings the salty brine to his mouth.

Carmine stands as he pulls up his pants and boxers; offering no post-coitus ceremony of kisses or caresses. He adjusts his clothing neatly back in place as he heads to the seating area. 

Victor remains on the floor; he acutely feels the loss of Carmine’s body. He turns his head away as a prick of self loathing begins to percolate deep inside. He can’t help but crave Falcone’s touch and attention. He rolls onto his his knees as he glances at Carmine; the old man has returned to the small coffee table to pour himself another drink.

Zsasz inhales a deep breath and springs to his feet to check on his prey.

“You still with me?”

A small groan emits weakly as the boy’s one eye cracks open. Victor grins and pats the boy on the shoulder. He removes the boy’s leg spreader before uncuffing and disconnecting the metal yoke from his neck and wrists. The boy stirs but mostly dangles by the neck, his strength gone. Victor lowers the hoist and removes the hook from the neck cuff. He rolls the battered body onto his back to remove the neck cuff.

The pro named Sean squirms and sobs. He cries out when his wrists are roughly grabbed. His spent body is dragged off the mat and onto the cold concrete floor. He’s then carefully propped up against the cement wall.

Victor squats to smooth the dangling scalp from the disfigured face. All he sees is Fries, no longer the unfortunate pro that is just an instrument for his release.

“I always wanted to do this when _you_ realized what I was.”

Victor swiftly stands and grabs at the torch gun. He flicks a switch on the wall, the whirring of large fans in the ventilation system open two vents up top of his home. He turns the knob on the tank, a steady hiss of fuel emits. He grabs the striker from the floor next to the tank and flicks it a couple of times.

The roar of fire is almost deafening; the sound very much like that of a jet engine. Victor lifts the torch and presses the trigger all the way down; the heat of the flame almost too much for him to bear. He swiftly aims it at the wailing boy and unleashes.

Carmine is standing by the door to the kill room; the light and heat too much to bear. He closes his eyes and turns his back. He frets that Zsasz will set himself ablaze along with his prey. After about a minute the light and heat die down. The screams have long since gone along with the boy named Sean.

Carmine enters the room; the walls radiate heat like a convection oven. The charred remains of the boy smolder and crackle; there’s a sickening smell of burnt flesh. The vents do their job as they suck and cycle the black smoke up and out of the home. Victor turns and lays the torch on the floor. Carmine can see that Victor did suffer a little from the heat. His torso and legs are red.

“Victor, come. Let’s get you washed up and treat those burns.”

Zsasz looks down; his chest and shoulders begin to sting. The skin on his face feels tight.

“Firefly’s torch is every bit worth the money I paid.”

He follows Carmine into the elevator and up to his own bathroom on the second floor. Victor stands in the cool shower stream; his mind and body relaxed— _calm_.

Carmine removes burn cream from a first aid kit that Victor personally furnishes with quality items. The killer keeps an extensive kit that has a large array of wound care and bullet removal tools. Carmine sets the cream on the counter and washes his hands. 

Victor exits the shower not bothering with a towel. The cold air on his wet body brings relief to his burning skin. He approaches his don who has seated himself on a short vanity stool by the sink and mirrors. 

Carmine beckons him closer. Victor stands before the seated man as he opens the cream and applies the medication to his legs. Victor bites his lower lip as a pang hits his stomach and chest. His body has always reacted to Carmine’s touch, but this was different. Deep down he sensed this was possibly the last intimate moment he will share with the old man.

“Sit.”

Victor drops to the floor and crosses his legs, he nestles in close to Carmine, facing towards him. His don begins slathering the cream to his chest and arms. The pangs in his chest have now turned into a large oppressive weight threatening to take his breath away. The weight begins traveling upward to his throat; the phantom constricting clenching tighter. Rattled, Victor leans his head on Carmine’s lap as he stares up into his face. Tender fingers continue to administer the cream to the afflicted areas. Victor wants desperately for his don to want him, to touch him...  _to kiss him_.

Victor closes his eyes and plants a kiss on Carmine's leg as he reaches up to stroke the lap before him.

The moment is quickly interrupted when Falcone stands without warning and strides out the bathroom door. Victor sways unsteadily; he keenly feels the departure of Carmine's warmth, but more importantly the stinging rebuke of his touch. The weight in Victor’s chest intensifies as his throat slams shut; the pain is now in his head. He’s shocked when his chin quivers. His face twitches as a flood of alien emotions, too numerous to identify, bombard his rational thinking. His eyes sting and well up; hot tears collect as his face slowly contorts. He chokes as a hard loud sob escapes. The sudden paroxysms grip his entire body as large copious tears roll down his cheeks.

Victor places his hands on the stool cushion still warm from Carmine’s body. The misery within him intensifies with each breath; all he can do is lay his head on the stool and give in. 

After twenty minutes Victor finally heads below, dressed appropriately. His face is swollen from his terrifying episode; his eyes puffy and red. His guts seize as an odd teeter disrupts his stride; he halts to regain his composure. He keeps his head bowed to hide his face and shame.

Carmine is fully clothed and waiting in the kitchen. Victor’s holsters and jacket were retrieved from below and laying on the kitchen counter top. Don Falcone is sitting on a stool; his expression hard and all business.

Victor swallows and walks over to stand before him.

“Victor, I want you to bring Sophia to me. Do not disobey me on this.

Victor hangs his head and begs.

“I don’t want to disobey you! But please, Don Falcone; let me have Oswald.”

Carmine narrows his eyes and stands.

“Oswald Cobblepot has always been your one weakness. You could have claimed him any number of times in the past.”

Victor raises his face, brow furrowed. He knows he could have claimed Oswald whenever it suited him, but circumstances never seemed right. To be more precise, he just didn’t _want to_ because the perks of keeping the small man alive was much more enticing. A fleeting thought whispers in his head.

_Or maybe I’m just making excuses …_

Carmine lets out a small sigh and shakes his head.

“Victor, you had many opportunities to satisfy that itch that’s consumed you since you met him. But I say this with all due seriousness, Oswald is above you. He has a bigger role to play here in Gotham. He’s yours to claim no longer.”

Victor hangs his head as his eyes shut tightly.

Carmine takes a couple of steps towards the exit of the kitchen but turns to assess Victor; he then adds.

“The five families knew all along that Sofia had informants within. We were holding out on dispatching them till we could find all her spies, but you coming here ruined those plans. I didn't tell you because it was none of your concern."

Zsasz’s eyes widen with the news; his mouth hanging slack-jawed.

Carmine continues as he switches the subject.

"Sophia has called on Lazlo. He’s the one wreaking havoc with the GCPD. I will be in Gotham, call when you have her. Kill Lazlo. He’s a liability; he’s killed too many cops.” Carmine narrows his eyes and adds. “He almost killed Jim Gordon; he put him in the hospital."

Victor exhales shakily, that bit of news is a huge surprise. He knows that Gordon’s line of work comes with high risks, but the thought of him losing to a second rate killer and hammy actor knocks the detective down a notch in his book. Also, the fact Lazlo is going after his mark sparks a seething need to put the hacky showman in his place. His lips peel back into a sneer when he thinks about sinking his blades into Sofia’s hired killer. He snaps out of it when he realizes that Carmine is scrutinizing him. He quickly schools his face and nods once, lowering his head.

Carmine narrows his eyes on Victor. The boy Nick, that Victor killed, had been a double agent within his ranks; he told him everything. Carmine maintains his hardened expression and commands before leaving.

“I want results… _soon_.”

Victor swallows thickly; infuriated at his own stupidity. He watches as Don Falcone makes his way down the hall and into the foyer. The subtle sound of the front door opening and closing echoes briefly then— silence.

Victor bites his lower lip; the space around him feels dead and empty without Carmine. He clenches his hands repeatedly, doing his best to drive back the returning weight in his chest. What he experienced upstairs unnerves him and it only adds to his turmoil. He briefly contemplates ending the old man only to relieve himself of his confusion.

Victor puffs out a long breath and shakes his head. The stinging in his eyes return as that infuriating welling begins to build yet again; he quickly wipes his eyes with a gloved hand.

He grabs his holster and threads his arms through; his skin stings with the action. He huffs out a large breath and gets his mind on business.

 _Lazlo. He’s a different kind of killer, optin’ for schemes and grandiose. There seems to be a never endin’ pool of_ **_those_ ** _types in Gotham._

Victor retrieves his jacket as he makes his way towards the garage.


	11. The Pig and The Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor heads over to Jim’s apartment while another killer gets the same idea.

 

 

—J—

 

Jim plops onto his left side and sighs deeply. His hasty shower done miraculous wonders for his mood. He nestles deep into his pillows; the towel slips from his hip and falls to the floor. Normally he would pull the covers over, but his numerous stitches catch and itch on fabric.

He popped two percocets in Harper’s car on the way back from the hospital. The pills didn’t take long to take effect especially after scarfing half of the dinner Harper bought for him. 

Since the incident, his mind has been plagued by Romero’s screams and the horrific scene of her strapped to the chair with that damn pig’s head over her. Jim furrows his brow. Persistent loops of shrill cries and her ragged voice pleading for help begins anew. To add insult to injury, the soft and ominous click of the trigger activating clicks and clicks just behind her screams.

Jim sighs; his mind mercifully cuts to Harvey’s face. Large hazel-colored eyes search him with genuine concern and relief. In all their years together, Harvey’s presence always brought him comfort and sanity.

 _The feel of his palm on my face._  

Jim turns his head into the pillows.

 _The soft kiss to my forehead before leaving._  

Jim’s lips part.

He envisions himself wrapped in his best friend's arms; resting his weary head on those broad shoulders. A large and warm refuge from the ugliness of the world.

At last the sweet pull of sleep beckons him into the void of nothingness. His bed a portal that quickly pulls him in… down… down.

The bliss is cut as his phone rings; the noise seems hallucinated. Maybe, but not likely. It rings again and this time it pulls him back to reality; his eyes slowly crack open. A third ring sounds; it takes his body a couple of moments to respond. He searches by his side and fumbles with the device in his left hand. He opens the piece and places it on his head not bothering to sit upright. He sighs and croaks out.

“Hmm? Yeah?”

Victor grins at Jim’s unusual colloquial greeting. He purrs into his phone.

“Hey, heard you almost got dead.”

Jim frowns as his drug-addled state recedes, allowing for a small moment of clarity.

“Victor?”

“Yeah.”

Jim huffs; an exasperated breath emits heavily.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

Zsasz’s temper flares. His attitude is already rendered rotten with what happened earlier and now Jim is adding to his shitty night. He scoffs and manages to playfully drawl out.

“You said to not come by. You never said I couldn’t _call_.”

Jim begrudingly chuckles at Zsasz’s incorrigibility; he finds it surprisingly charming in the moment. His good arm relinquishes the phone; the minor mirth taking the last of his energies. The device lays across his face as he sinks deeper into his pillows. A long wary breath expels; he manages to say before trailing off.

“Victor…  you… ” 

Jim mumbles as sleep reclaims him. 

Zsasz’s anger relents upon hearing Jim’s sleepy chuckle.

“I’m comin’ over.”

The phone slides off his face as Jim sinks into a deep sleep. The muffled sound of Victor’s voice can be heard as he calls out Jim’s name a couple of times.

Victor ends the call and dials out to Ursula on the night shift.

“Penguin’s been holed up in his mansion the entire time. Xoch is keeping eye, visually. The only ones coming and going are his territory leaders probably to relay news of their searches.”

“Okay. I’ll be over in a couple of hours.”

 

— 卌 —

 

Victor bounds up the stairs to Jim’s apartment. He pushes at the door and finds the sticky portal still remains unlocked. He shakes his head and softly _tsks_ a couple of times. He scans the living area and kitchen. The light over the kitchen sink is the only thing on. The weak source hardly illuminates the spaces beyond the counters. 

He notices a couple of bags from the hospital on the island counter. He digs through them and holds the pill bottles to the weak light. He raises an eyebrow at the amount of opioids prescribed. He tosses the medication back into the papersack; the pills make a racket in the quiet apartment. Victor doesn’t bother with stealth; he is sure Jim is wrapped up in a tight cocoon of prescribed pain relief. He sets the bags back where he found them and makes his way towards the bedroom. 

He slowly pushes the half-cracked door open. The hinges issue a long drawn squeak. 

His eyes zero in on the detective; Jim’s body is halfway on this bed. Victor’s eyes pop wide open when he realizes the detective is stark naked. He notices a towel on the floor; obviously the man managed a shower before passing out. Zsasz smiles as he saunters over to take in Jim’s naked form. 

He laces his thumbs through his gun holster and cheese grins down at the slumbering man. Jim’s face is buried in two pillows; blonde locks curl and feather out. The softness and vulnerability of the harden lawman elicits a wistful sigh. Victor removes his gloves as he approaches the gloriously nude Jim Gordon. The injured man is lying on his good side, his right shoulder bandaged and cradled on a pillow, propping it out of harm’s way.

Victor notices Jim’s phone is lying open on the bed next to him. He plucks it up and closes it, returning it beside the sleeping form. His eyes roam the languid body that barely occupies a neatly made bed. He shakes his head when he takes in how smooth and hairless Gordon is, from his chest to his genitals. 

_I wonder if he waxes or shaves?_

In the dimness of the bathroom light, he can see how evenly tanned throughout Jim actually is; Victor licks his lips. He finally notices the multiple lacerations and stitches; his eyebrows nearly fly off his face. He shakes his head, disappointed with the blemishes that marr an otherwise perfect body.

 _Always a hair width away from death, Jim_.

His hungry gaze travels back down to assess Jim’s length and girth. He nods approvingly, the man isn’t big by any means but the girth is something to behold.

The urge to discover if Jim’s hairless between his legs compels him. He lightly runs the fingertips of his left hand over Jim’s hip and buttocks; his eyes never tearing from the sleeping face. He slips the tips of his fingers into Jim’s cleftal horizon and lightly strokes, being cautious to not finger him too roughly.

_Hairless. Mmmm._

He slowly removes his fingertips and brings them to his nose. He inhales deeply; soapy tones of cedar, cypress, and lavender mix with a heady musk— _Jim_. Victor licks his fingers and curses that he spent himself on prey tonight. 

He crawls onto the bed, carefully positioning himself over the sleeping man. He grins as the jostling does nothing to rouse Jim. He leans in, a purr issues, throaty… wanting. He lightly laps at the neck before him. His fingers find soft golden curls; he threads all ten through. Sensuous and fragrant locks wrap around; he leans in and takes a deep whiff; the beginnings of a low ache develop. Victor pulls back and shakes his head.

“It would be too easy to take you like this.”

He gazes at the sleeping man for a few moments as his fingers lightly massage through Jim’s thick hair. After a deep sigh, he shuffles off the bed. He searches a nightstand for a pen and paper. He finds a small pad and a pen attached. He writes down some information then lays it under Jim’s phone.

Victor leans over Jim one more time; his lips come in close to an ear. He whispers.

_“When you’re no longer of any use to me. You’re mine.”_

He leans in and nuzzles Jim’s hair. The detective still makes no signs of waking; Victor pulls back and raises an eyebrow. He places the back of his hand to Jim’s nose to ensure the man is indeed still _alive_. Victor smiles and puffs out a soft chuckle when he feels the faint ghost of moist breath on his skin. He plants a soft kiss on Jim’s lips.

Floorboards creaking in the living room grab Victor’s attention, his eyes snap towards the darkened bedroom door. He slowly slides off the bed and waits for another telltale sound. The creaking floorboards now sound their complaint in the hallway. He unholsters both Sigs and makes his way towards the door. He points both muzzles into the looming darkness. A shadowy figure shifts and halts at Victor’s appearance. 

The head tilts, the proportions of it are misshapen. The intruder is formidable in size compared to Victor’s athletic build. He quirks an eyebrow as he greets the man with his usual casual air. 

“Hey, Lazlo. Long time no see. Nice... _hat_?”

Victor keeps a steady aim down the hall with both weapons. Any other normal person would be unsettled by a large man wearing a pig's head; Victor thinks nothing of it.

The intruder calls out softly; the sound of his voice muffled.

“Oh, my… my. _Victor Zsasz_ , you baaaaad man.” The shadowy man exaggerates a fearful shake as a light hearted chuckle emits.

Victor hears the soft whoosh of Lazlo flinging something at him followed by immediate pain. A small blade embeds itself in his right arm and one slices into his left thumb. Victor hisses out and drops the gun from his left hand but manages to keep the one in his right. 

He fires two shots down the hall but Lazlo has long since ducked out of the hallway into either the spare bedroom or guest bath. Victor can hear Jim stirring on the bed; he quickly shuts the bedroom door then slowly makes his way down the corridor. He halts to yank the small blade out of his arm. That’s when he hears the subtle rustle of clothing; something is coming his way. He jumps back in time to hear a heavy blade chomping deep into the drywall and muffled curses as Lazlo abandons the embedded weapon to steer clear of Victor.

Victor lunges and strikes, sinking the killer’s own small blade into whatever he can; the darkness doesn’t allow for precision. He feels the satisfying thud of metal splitting flesh and Lazlo yelping. He thinks he got in a thigh but his victory is short lived when a large meaty hook whacks him on top of his head.

Victor goes down to the floor as his other Sig slides down the hall into the living room. The quick sting of tearing burns elicits a small grunt out of him. He gathers his wits and quickly rolls in time to hear a thunderous stomp of a boot coming down. 

Jim awakens to the riotous blast of gunfire filling his apartment. He scrambles out of the bed and sways; his knees buckle, sending him to the floor. His body is racked with pain as taunt skin, riddled with scar tissue and stitches, sear in pain. He hears scuffling in the hallway as two voices grunt and howl at each other. Loud thuds and shaking walls reverberate through his second story apartment.

Jim hoists himself up and tries to shake off the effects of his pain relief. He stumbles towards his night stand and opens a drawer where he stashes his standard issue piece each night. He loads a clip and rushes towards the door but realizes he is completely in the buff. He backs away from the door to quickly rummage in his closet; his sights never faltering from his bedroom. He finds a pair of boxers and clumsily gets into them.

Victor removes his Bowe knife from his holster and strikes, his blade finds its mark deep in Lazlo’s bowels. This doesn’t stop the large lethal man; Lazlo grabs his wrist keeping him from removing the blade and comes down with his butcher knife. Victor yanks his arm from the iron grip; luckily Lazlo’s hands are slick with sweat or his arm would be cleaved in two. The man growls viciously as he turns the blade and swings in a back motion for Victor’s head. 

Victor dodges and rolls; he executes a low lunging maneuver to retrieve his Bowe from Lazlo’s gut. He grabs the stock and rotates his wrist to swing his arm back and out in an arc.

The small hallway permeates with the smell of blood and guts. Lazlo howls in pain but manages to swing at Victor with his knife; clipping him in the shoulder. He is shockingly taken off balance with the strike and slips on viscous fluids that coat the wooden floor; his Bowe slips from his grip and slides away. Victor silently curses at himself for lack of weapon control.

_Fuck! Get it together, Zsasz!_

Lazlo grunts and growls as he maintains enough rage to power through the mortal wound.

Zsasz quickly scrambles towards the living room on his hands and knees. He feels two small blades get him in the back and upper right shoulder. He grits through the pain and searches frantically for his lost Sig. The dim kitchen light is enough for him to see his gun lying next to the sofa. 

Lazlo bares down with his secondary butcher knife, meaning to render him in two. Victor grabs his gun and swiftly turns; bringing his weapon up into a sloppy aim. He empties his clip, his sights adjusting as the small bursts of light from his gun illuminates his opponent. He gets Lazlo in the head twice; the grisly sight of face, brain and bone exploding all around brings Victor relief. He quickly rolls out of the way to avoid the falling headless body. He gapes at Lazlo for a moment and chuckles under his breath.

“You were a _son of a bitch_ to kill. Mad respect.”

Victor finally tries to catch his breath. He attempts to reach for the small blade sticking in his shoulder, but gives up. He hears Jim come out of his bedroom as the lights come on. 

Jim takes in the amount of blood and carnage in his small hallway. His Colt aimed as he slowly makes his way towards a very bloody and exhausted assassin. Victor plops onto his ass in a pool of blood.

“Victor?”

Zsasz calls out weakly.

“Jim…”

Jim cautiously hobbles down the hallway and is greeted with a grisly sight. A man laying on his stomach and a pig’s head in the hall. Jim steps over the carnage. There’s blood everywhere along with the distinct odor of spilled guts. He raises his gun as his vision struggles to clear the drug haze. Victor is breathing hard as he keeps pressure on his wounded arm.

Jim growls as he steadies his gun on Victor.

“What the hell is going on?!”

Victor nods to the dead man on Jim’s floor. The detective wobbles over, struggling to clear his head and steady his hand. Victor groans.

“He came to steal you away, Jim.”

Jim swallows as he eyes the body on his floor. He looks at Victor as his expression softens a bit. Victor points towards his back with a thumb as his shoulders slump.

“Jim… if you don’t mind. Would you… please?”

Gordon warily eyes Victor but lowers his gun when large dark eyes plead helplessly. He stumbles over and nearly trips over the dead body. His equilibrium still unable to adjust from deep sleep to panic.

He swallows when he sees two small blades sticking out of Victor’s back. He grabs at one and quickly yanks it out. Victor grunts and sways. Jim grabs the last one with both hands and rips it out the same. Victor hisses as he contorts. 

Jim shuffles away and stares at Victor. The wounded assassin shakily takes out his phone and makes a call.

“Tash… come get me. Gordon’s apartment. _Hurry_.”

Victor grunts as he stands; he can feel the slick of blood running down his back; his right arm drips. 

“I really _suck_ at hand-to-hand combat.”

Victor chuckles but it soon dies when he finally feels all the places Lazlo stabbed and sliced into him. He applies pressure to a nasty one on his right arm. He looks down at Jim who seems in shock; his blue eyes never tearing from the macabre scene before him.

“He’s dead, Jim.”

Victor kicks Lazlo’s dead body; Jim finally breaks the silence as he asks.

“Is that who I think it is?”

Victor looks back at him and nods. He spots his Bowe knife and retrieves it. He gives it a sloppy wipe on his pants and stows it in his holster. 

“Yeah. He musta followed you.”

Victor searches and finds his other Sig in the open door of the guest bedroom. He ensures he has all his weapons before approaching; Jim seems to have gone into shock.

Jim finally tears his gaze away from the horrific sight and looks up at Victor. He gapes at the killer before collecting himself and standing. A sudden head rush envelopes Jim’s senses and he nearly falls to the floor. Victor quickly scoops him into his arms. Jim looks up into Victor’s face which seems deathly white, more than usual with the blood loss. Both of them sway unsteadily on their feet; Jim holds on tight with his left hand as he shakes his head.

“You’re hurt, you should go to the hospital.”

Victor chuckles and replies bitterly.

“Do you care?” 

Jim furrows his brow, his gaze falling away.

Victor grabs at Jim's chin and lifts. He pulls the smaller man in closer and sneers in derision. He chuckles as a quick breath sucks in; he growls through clenched teeth.

“Good thing I didn’t take your text _seriously_ or you would be just _‘nother_ _dead_ _cop!_ ”

Jim’s rage pricks with Victor’s abrasive statement. The remark comes across dismissive of the officers' lives lost to The Pig. Despite owing Zsasz his life, his anger flares with the insolent man. He pushes Victor off of him as he snarls.

“ _I did mean it_ ; I **never** want to see you again!”

Victor stumbles back but quickly plants both feet; his pride dealt a crippling blow from Jim’s incessant denial of him. His rage flairs. 

Jim storms to his bedroom to retrieve his phone as he shouts.

“I want you gone! Now!”

Victor’s anger takes hold as he storms after Jim; his wounds protest but he blocks out the pain. His only concern is sending the stuck-up detective a message, one he won’t soon forget.

Jim feels two arms wrap around him. A firm hand grips the wrist of his good arm and twists, forcing him to drop the gun. The other lays across Jim’s wound; fingers press down on the bandage. Jim cries out in pain and feebly thrashes in Victor’s grasps. A mouth comes to his ear, Victor’s voice is low and menacing.

“Your _contempt_ after I **saved** your life is _off-puttin’_ , Jim. My body is torn to shreds all because I wanted to spend time with _you_ , but you _shame_ me instead!”

Jim can feel Victor’s arms tighten around him. The hand on his wounded shoulder pressing down harder. His strength is completely sapped he shivers as he helplessly submits to Victor.

Victor inhales a sharp breath through clenched teeth; the sound like a hissing snake. His hard and unrelenting embrace coiling around Jim as each gasp and breath he expels cinches Victor tighter and tighter around him. 

“So helpless in my arms. So... _tempting_ … ”

Jim tries to struggle but his energy is spent. His mind admonishing him for daring to want a killer. _This is what you get. Dumbass._

His breaths turn to gasping and his vision darkens. He whimpers as Victor continues to dig his fingers into his stitched wound.

Victor exhales a long hot breath into Jim ear. A shaky moan follows but soon dies as a tongue comes out to lick all along the shell of his ear. Victor releases Jim’s wrist to snatch his chin and force his head to the side, exposing his neck.

Jim gasps as sharp teeth sink in. He struggles, exacerbating his wounds. Jim cries out as Victor breaks through his skin; the hand on his chin wraps around his neck and squeezes down hard.

Victor relishes the coppery taste of Jim as his blood seeps into his palette. The urge to tear a chunk of his flesh almost too powerful to refuse. The fight, the blood, and his triumph in battle renders him elated, excitable, and most of all… _ready_. Jim’s life is his to do with as he pleases and… he does… oh… so… _please_.

He tempers his excitement; as he slowly releases his bite. He takes an indulgent lick and curls his tongue as he returns it to his mouth, ensuring not one drop of Jim escapes him. He smacks his lips as he eyes the choking man. He moans and quickly traces his tongue flatly up Jim’s neck and to a corner of his mouth.

Jim feels himself slipping away from the lack of oxygen. The iron grip around his neck finally relents. he gasps deeply for much needed air. He feels a hand take his chin again and press his head back flush to Victor’s shoulder. His head is then wretched to make him face his tormentor. Jim’s cloudy gaze stares deep into two dark voids. His body shakes as does his voice. He barely manages out a raspy plea.

“Vic… “

Victor’s usual pleasant and affable expression is replaced with something— _different_. Jim’s seen this look only once before, the day Zsasz came to warn him of Falcone’s hit when he foolishly taunted the killer with a condescending remark.

Victor wills his hunger to back down. He snarls loudly through clenched teeth.

“The “ _nice guy”_ you’ve only ever seen is gone now, Jim. You shouldn’t have toyed with me!”

Victor shoves the detective from his grasps; power behind the action was more than he intended. 

Jim slams hard against the wall. His forehead and nose hit; the impact stuns him and takes him off his feet. Jim stumbles but quickly finds himself hitting the floor. He flops on his left side and weakly tries to peel himself off the ground.

Victor rubs his head a few times as he growls in fustration. He glares down at the detective; he quickly raises a foot, meaning to deliver a swift kick to the downed man.

Jim raises his face to look up at Victor. His nose is dripping blood and his reaction dulled from the impact. He lowers his head and braces himself when he sees a booted foot swinging back.

When the blow does not come; Jim peers back up. He can see the assassin is losing his steam; he sways unsteadily on his feet.

Victor shakes his head as plants his foot back on the ground. He's becoming light headed and tired; he fears his blood loss is becoming severe. He leans against the wall; his strength fading fast. He reapplies pressure to his mangled arm.

Jim wipes the blood from his nose and does his best to sit up. He leans his head back on the wall. He mentions through a painful and sore throat; his voice raspy and barely above a whisper. 

“You’re insane and self-entitled, the _worst_ mix ever.”

Victor sneers down as blonde brows lower and join together into Jim’s signature scowl. The detective’s muscles begin coiling hard, he can see the ripple throughout his shoulders and arms. Jim has that look in his eyes; he’s about to attack. Victor quickly brings up a finger and wags it before dropping his arm back down; his whole body feels like a heavy sack of meat. He _tsks_ a couple of times as his left hand rests on his Bowe knife.

“This won’t be like before, Jim.”

Victor pulls down the corners of his mouth and tilts his head away; his eyes remained locked on Jim. There’s a hint of disappointment as he adds.

“You’ve made it _personal_.”

Victor narrows his eyes at the detective as he turns and hobbles out the front door, disappearing without another word.

Jim sits shaken and confused; he rolls his head from side to side on the wall. He pinches his nose and slowly makes his way to his feet.

 _Zsasz does_ **_not_ ** _handle rejection well. I better get Harvey over here._

He heads to his phone to call Harvey and Fox over. He frowns when he notices a folded paper tucked under it. He opens the message.

 

_Lazlo Valentin_

_He’s your killer_

_~Zsasz_

  
  
  
— J —

 

There’s a burst of renewed energy among the GCPD officers and personnel in attendance, now that _The Pig_ is dead. Everyone bustles to handle the crime scene or hold back nosy neighbors from getting too close. Fellow officers offer Jim words of profound relief that he is safe. 

Harvey and Harper study the corpse as the coroner and ME do their job. Jim does his best to remain coherent; his body and mind ache desperately for rest and solitude. 

He shamelessly took another percocet with a half bottle of beer after inspecting his wounds. His shoulder only had one stitch ripped out; the scar tissue torn with Victor’s attack. He place a few pieces of surgical tape across wound in hopes of closing it before adding a clean bandage.

The adrenaline had long since worn off; the pain still manages to get past the the fresh dosage of meds. His body slumps hard against the couch. He managed to get into some jeans, a loose t-shirt and Harvey’s hoodie that he had left behind one night. He has the hood over his head and the drawstrings cinched tight to keep the bite wound from people’s sights. 

Harvey looks up and eyes Jim. His best friend looks sapped and out of it; his eyes are struggling to remain open. Harvey shakes his head.

_I need to get him outtahere. Poor guy is miserable._

Harvey grabs Harper’s attention.

“Hey, I need for you to spearhead looking into Lazlo Valentin’s information. If there are ties between him and Sofia Falcone, I want a city wide manhunt for her.”

Harvey quickly disappears into Jim’s bedroom and comes back out after a few minutes. He has a duffle bag with clothing, Jim’s wallet, gun and badge. He’s carrying a couple of shoes too.

“Hey Harper can you grab Jim’s meds and shove’em in this bag? He’s stayin’ with me till we get all this cleaned up and he’s healed. I’ll join you when I have Jim tucked away at my place.”

“Sure thing, Captain.”

Harper inserts the bag of meds into the stuffed duffle bag. Harvey walks over to Jim who looks about as tired as one could be after sustaining injury and dealing with not one but two killers in his apartment. He grabs at Jim’s good arm and helps him up.

“Come on Jimbo, let’s get you outta here.”

Once the both of them are in Harvey’s car and pulling away. He eyes his silent friend. Jim is bundled up in a hoodie; not just any hoodie, his hoodie. He left it after a night of going over case files and beer. Jim has always been a pillar of strength and perseverance, but in the moment he looks anything but. The man is withdrawn, feeble, and all-out down from the looks of it. It doesn’t help that his slumped form is drowning in the borrowed double XL garment. 

“Hey buddy, you okay? I imagine shit hasn’t settled inside your head of what happened.”

Jim peers over at Harvey and offers a small nod. The wound on his neck stings with the action. He adjusts the hoodie to ensure the wound is covered from Harvey’s sight.

Harvey expels a huge breath. He returns his sight to the congested road ahead.

“This may sound funny but I could kiss Zsasz right ‘bout now. I shoulda made you come stay with me the moment you got outta the hospital. I was just so busy with the commissioner and… “

“Harv, it’s okay.”

“I swear; I was gonna come by in the mornin’ and make you come stay with me till you were healed. I’m just glad Zsasz gottem. Fuck! I guess that means we owe him— _big time_.”

Harvey scoffs and shakes his head.

“Well, whatever he wants; he gets.”

Jim swallows at that statement. Victor’s mouth on him is still a disturbing phantom that settles on his neck every damn second. Jim shifts on his seat. 

_Whatever he wants? Fuck him. He doesn’t get whatever he wants._

Harvey inhales a small breath and nearly chokes as he says.

“Scares the fuck outta me you were almost taken.”

Harvey glances at Jim. His friend’s haggard appearance takes him off guard. He mutters apologetically.

“Shit, sorry Jimbo. I’ll shut up so you can get a little nap in. Traffic is pretty bad right now; might be awhile before we get you to my place.”

Jim closes his eyes and mercifully slips into sleep. Harvey peers over at him relieved but troubled. Though there was cause for celebration with the unprecedented victory, his friend’s demeanor is anything but indicative of it.

 

___

  
  
At Harvey’s apartment.

Harvey watches as Jim lays back onto the bed. He only managed to kick off his shoes but opted to keep all his clothes on.

“Hey, you sure you wanna sleep fully clothed? Don’t it hurt your stitches?”

Jim closes his eyes and shakes his head. Harvey concedes; he pulls out an extra blanket from a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. He unfurls the thick cover over his friend. He then wanders around the apartment and locks all the windows. Though The Pig is dead, there is still an air of uneasiness; the pit of his stomach is still missing, never to return. Those gut wrenching _what-ifs,_ that don’t seem to let up, make him incessantly fret and worry even though he can see with his own two eyes that Jim is safe in his bed.

He closes all the blinds after making sure the locks are secured. The soft rise and fall of Jim’s breathing brings him a bit of calm. He ensures the blanket is properly covering his friend. He smooths Jim hair from his forehead and plants a kiss.

“Get some rest buddy, I’ll lock up behind me. I should be back in a few hours. It’s been one hell of a long day.”

Jim nods sleepily and is out before Harvey leaves the bedroom. 

 

___

 

The morning comes in the time it took Jim to close his eyes. He wakes with a bit of confusion at the unfamiliarity of the space around him. Memories of last night slowly come back to him. He swallows thickly; his throat dry as a desert. He remembers that The Pig, AKA: Lazlo Valentin, came into his apartment. The horrific scene of the man’s head blown into moosh along with the sight of spilled entrails still churn his stomach. And Zsasz, on him… biting… squeezing… _threatening_.

_Zsasz._

Jim reaches for his neck. The wound stings with the lightest touch. Victor’s words hung heavy with a foreboding that has Jim’s skin pricked in goosebumps.

_“You shouldn’t have toyed with me, Jim.”_

Jim reaches for his phone that’s tucked away in the hoodie pocket. He glances at the time; it was almost noon. His stomach growls to confirm the lateness of the day. A text awaits him; it’s from Zsasz.

 

_You taste so good_

_I want another mouthful_

 

Jim grits his teeth and taps out a reply.

 

_Go to hell_

  
He drops the phone on the bed and clutches at his head. A small headache begins to make itself known along side a general thickness muddling his thoughts. He groans with the telltale signs of a dull ache forming at his wound sites; the pain threatens to worsen with the slightest movement.

Harvey shuffles to the bedroom door. The lumbersome captain looks stiff and puffy-faced. Jim’s sure Harvey had almost no sleep after last night’s events. He acknowledges the messy-haired man with a short, “Hey.”

“How yea feelin’ bud?”

“Like the world is moving too fast.”

Harvey yawns and wanders over. The bed dips as the large man plops next to him.

“Yeah, I feel ya on that. You in the mood for some breakfast? Might wanna eat before you take more of your meds.”

Jim isn’t bothered by moments of physical exchanges between Harvey and himself. Jim often keeps a hardened and stoic persona; a man that never needs comforting. But Harvey has always been the exception; he can be vulnerable… _exposed…_ with his old partner. The only man he’s ever allowed familiarity and a level of intimacy reserved only for family. _Well till Zsasz, but that’s not the same. That was animalistic_. 

Right now, he needs to feel Harvey’s solid form. He wants to lean his battered body upon his friend’s comforting presence regardless of how it may seem. He knows the older man won’t think anything of it nor address the uncharacteristic clinginess.

He sighs as he leans his head on Harvey’s shoulder and nods. Harvey looks down at his best friend as he makes himself comfortable against his body. He smiles brightly and says.

“Where ever you wanna go.”

“The Griddle House.”

Harvey moans with delight at the suggestion. This elicits a small chuckle from Jim; he hooks his left arm through Harvey’s arm and shuffles closer.

“You deserve a double decker waffle stack with strawberries and whipped cream. I wouldn’t mind a plate full of that myself. Are you sure you’re up to… ”

Harvey’s word catch at the back of his throat when Jim clings tightly to his arm. The man’s face is buried in the thick meaty part of his upper arm. He casts a concerned look down at his friend. The detective has never clung to him in such a way, no matter how much he was hurting. His heart aches over the pain Jim must be feeling to reach out in such a way. He softly pats Jim’s head before running his fingers through his thick messy waves.

“Hey… you okay?”

Jim shakes his head; he peers up at Harvey.

“I can still hear Romero’s screams. It’s my fault she died. I should have… “

Harvey shakes his head and puffs out.

“Jim, you didn’t know. The sick fuck’s MO has always been just displayin’ not setting explosives. Harper and others are gettin’ all the info we can find out about this dead fucker. She said she’ll call if they find any connection between him and Sofia Falcone. Also the delivery service seems to be part of Miss Falcone’s assets along with several other buildings. She was usin’ her mother’s name on everythin’.”

Harvey can see Jim is not really listening to him. He sighs and plants a kiss on top of his head.

“How ‘bout we go get some waffles and celebrate that this maniac is no longer a threat.”

Jim offers a weak smile and nods. Harvey lifts his arm, the one Jim is holding, to gently wrap around his friend. He leans over and plants a firm kiss on Jim’s temple. 

“I’m a hit the head. I got you some clothes in that dufflebag on the chest there.”

Jim nods as he departs the warm embrace to change. He gets a whiff of himself and sheepishly states.

“I need a little cleaning up.”

He scoots to the edge of the bed as best he can. Harvey glances at Jim and offers.

“Need help? Can’t imagine that you have much mobility.”

Jim raises his eyebrows at the offer and chuckles. He shyly looks away as he admits.

“I could use help cleaning some of the wounds on my back. It feels like some are oozing.”

Harvey manages a large smile before hopping to his feet and muttering.

“Call me Nurse Bullock. Come on, let’s make it hasty. I’m starvin’ like a race horse!”

Harvey makes a quick heading to the bathroom; the soft slaps of his bare feet sound down the hallway. Jim hobbles after him.

Jim sits on the toilet with his back towards the light of the bathroom. Harvey winces as he examines all the stitches and lacerations; the bruising is also alarming. He gently pats at Jim’s back with a warm wet towel; his eyes wander over the signs of just how close to death his friend really was.

His eyes glance up; Jim is hunched over with the hoodie and t-shirt hanging off his neck. He would have never thought Jim to be so modest when it's just the two of them. He clears his throat.

“They’re not too bad really. After this let me check your shoulder and get some fresh bandages on that.”

Jim nods. The feel of Harvey’s tender care eases his spirits; he closes his eyes and sighs. The warm wet towel leaves a refreshing feel on his skin, renewing him. Harvey carefully removes two bandages to replace them. Once done, he readies a large pad and some dressing to tackle the right shoulder. 

“Here, need to move this out da way.”

Harvey pulls the hoodie and shirt over Jim’s head, flinging them to the sink. Jim turns on the toilet and sits up to start peeling the nasty pad and tape off. Harvey rinses and wrings out the towel, he chuckles as he turns to Jim.

“Might wanna get them pits; you smell like curry gone ba…”

The snarky put-down catches in his throat when he gets an eyeful of what’s on Jim’s neck.

“Whoa...whoa… what da fuck happened there?!”

Jim stiffens; he forgot about the bite mark. He shakes his head and dismisses it.

“It’s nothing.”

Harvey furrows his brow and throws up his hands in exasperation.

“That looks like it happened last night. That shit is still bleedin’! Did that sick fuck, Lazlo, do that to you!? Jim, we should go get you checked out. Human bites get infected and no tellin’ what that… “

Jim turns his gaze from Harvey and barks out.

“He didn’t do it, _okay_? Can we just drop it? If it gets worse I will go get it taken care of.”

Harvey shakes his head in disbelief. Never has Jim refused treatment on any wound. In their line of business, coming into contact with infected perps is a huge risk.

“Well who then?! Who did… “

Harvey’s face drops when it finally dons on him.

“Wait… Zsasz? He did that to you?”

Jim continues to peel the tape off; his mood returning to it’s darkened state.

Harvey smooths his hair back and sighs. He squats in front of Jim and leans his head over to make the stubborn man look at him.

“Yeah, okay; you don’t have to say it.”

Harvey decides to not press the subject, his friend has a nasty habit of closing off communication when he feels threatened or backed against a wall.

“Jim, can I please take you to go it it treated _professionally_ after breakfast? You know damn well that shit isn’t gonna heal right.”

Jim glances at him with a furrowed brow but manages a slight nod. Harvey brings up a hand and cups Jim’s face; the worry in his gut doesn’t let up. He offers Jim a warm smile, the smaller man relents and smiles back. Harvey kisses his forehead and continues with getting him cleaned-up.

Afterwards, Jim retrieves his phone before they head out. He notices another text message from Victor waiting. 

 

_As long as I can_

_take you with me_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep it rather canon throughout how god awful Victor is with hand-to-hand combat. This dude seriously needs to take some Krav Maga or something!


	12. Dopamine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor thinks on his standing with Don Falcone and his new infatuation with the detective. Jim and Harvey fluff moment. Sofia finds out she needs to act quickly when certain events come to light.

 

 

— 卌 —

 

Another day turns to night and still no word from the Edward snatchers. Strangely enough, no word from Oswald’s territory leaders either. He chews on a thumb nail; all of his nails ruined down to the quick with his nervous tick. He, Fries, and Firefly scouted all known Falcone spots, but each place turned up empty— abandoned.

Oswald leans both elbows on his desk. His nerves frayed and his exhaustion near a tipping point. He decides a nap on the couch would do him some good. He hobbles over to his seating area and plops into the thick soft leather cushions. He leans over as a single tear makes a lazy moist trail from the corner of his eye, across the bridge of his nose, and down the opposite cheek. He closes his eyes as the same thought he’s had over and over, loops through once more.

_I shouldn’t have pushed Zsasz away._

Sleep quickly lures him in, but as soon as he feels himself succumbing to it the doors to his office open. The broaching cold and the grating sound of mechanisms make Oswald pop-up in agitation. He’s about to admonish Freeze for the intrusion but sees that he is holding something up.

It’s a black rectangle. His eyes widen when he realizes it actually a  video tape.

“Oswald, this was sent to the lounge. It was in a box; no name.”

Freeze heads to Oswald’s small television and inserts the video recording into the VHS receiver.

Oswald quickly hauls himself off the couch and stands in front of the television. The screen flashes and he can see Edward still in his icy prison. The kidnappers are in a large area, possibly a warehouse. Oswald inhales a shaky breath as he watches on.

A man stands by the cube with a chainsaw in his hand. He seems to be waiting. A disembodied voice from behind the camera remarks.

“Yes, Ms. Falcone. Ready.”

Oswald seethes when he hears the name Falcone. His anger immediately gives way to fear when the chainsaw roars and chugs. He screams.

"No… no! What are they doing?!”

The teeth of the chain make light work of the ice. The horror of the scene too much for Oswald to bear. The blood drains from his face; his legs wobble and falter. As soon as he starts falling a firm hand quickly latches onto an arm. He feels himself yanked into a large embrace. 

Oswald wails as he buries his face into cold metal chest plates. Freeze watches the screen for him. Though he has no feelings one way or another about Edward, he can’t help but feel horrified. He can imagine how slow and agonizing it would be to die that way; to be sliced bit by bit while frozen. 

Oswald flinches and sobs at the sounds of ice chipping and flinging away. He can’t bare to look at Edward getting dismembered.

The sounds cease as the man with the chainsaw backs away. Freeze pats Penguin on a shoulder and says.

“They didn’t cut The Riddler, just some ice. They got close though.”

Oswald turns his head and peers at the screen. A woman walks around and faces the camera. She appears dignified and reserved; all the traits that Carmine himself exudes even in the face of overwhelming odds. He unhands Freeze and squares up to the television. His tear-stained face contorts and crinkles in rage.

“Oswald Cobblepot, I’m sure by now you know who I am. If you want your precious Riddler in one piece. You will meet with me. You can reach me at this number.”

Sofia holds up a paper with a number written in large black marker; the video then cuts out.

Freeze rewinds the tape and pauses at the number. He watches as Oswald quickly inputs it into his phone. Freeze inhales a breath to say something, but it's too late. The small man is walking away with the phone to his ear. He listens in as Oswald immediately admonishes the person on the other side.

“A video tape? Really? A little archaic and may I add a bit overly dramatic!”

Freeze shakes his head at how Oswald can go from a state of emotional distress to rage and snark.

On the other side of the connection. Sofia smiles and replies sweetly.

“Do forgive the theatrics, Mr. Cobblepot. But I want you to understand what I intend to do if you disobey me.”

Oswald growls into his phone.

“And what is it you want?!’

“Well, I would have thought this was obvious; I want Gotham. I’ll get in contact with you on a location to meet up. Goodbye, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald screeches as Sofia ends the calls. He pushes at the small television in a fit of rage, sending it to the floor. Fries calls out.

“Oswald.”

The small man whips around to face Freeze.

“Let me guess, she wants you to meet her somewhere?”

Oswald nods his head and says.

“I want you and Firefly there.”

Freeze quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head.

“She means to do away with us. Normally, I wouldn’t flinch at such a thing but we have no idea what her numbers are and where she wants us to go. We’ll be walking straight into a trap. Oswald, are we really going to do this for The Riddler?”

Oswald flashes Fries a glare as his lips peel back to reveal his teeth.

“Yes! We will!”

Freeze stands and throws up his hands.

“I’m out. I’m not risking myself for your ex-boyfriend. Firefly will most likely set you ablaze for even suggesting it. Ivy might help you, but she took off and didn’t say where she was going.”

Oswald bristles and rages as he grasps onto Freeze as he begins to walk away.

"No! You will stay and do as I say! I’ve given you everything to find a cure! This is how you repay me?!”

Fries continues walking as the smaller man yanks and hangs off his arm. Victor barely misses a step as he drags the small crime lord along. 

Oswald huffs and blubbers as his tall icy enforcer keeps walking undeterred.

“Please, Victor! I have no one else. Please help me!”

Fries sighs angrily and swings his arm, whipping Oswald in front of him. The small man stumbles a bit before letting go and standing before him.

“Alright, I will help you, but the second things turn for the worse I’m blasting my way out of there regardless of what she threatens to do to Edward. Got it?“

“Yes… okay. Fine! Fine.”

Oswald blinks up as the large man shakes his head. His masculine features pinched in thought. There’s a soft expression that melts on Victor’s face; something akin to pity.

“Oswald, you know this is foolish. I remember that day on the pier. Would The Riddler do the same for you if the roles were reversed?”

Oswald recoils from Victor’s words. 

“I have a weapon we can use. (huffs and shakes his head). It’s very unstable but it might work. We’ll need Firefly there with us.”

Oswald gawks at Freeze’s rambling. The blue-illuminated man thinks a moment and then says.

“This requires tact. If you don’t hear from me assume I’m dead.”

Oswald’s mouth remains agape as Freeze exits the study. He yells back at the closing door; frustrated with the man’s cryptic statement.

“Wait… what?! Victor!”

Freeze shouts back. “I’m a go talk to Bridgit.”

Oswald hears his phone chime with a text.

 

_Undoubtedly Freeze_

_and Firefly will be with you_

_You will walk away from them_

_At the location_

_Or else._

 

 

— 卌 —

 

Next day late afternoon.

Victor finished gathering information. He found out that Oswald’s sub-level gang leaders and bosses have taken a step back from helping locate The Riddler. Sophia and her men have sent word that they are close to toppling Oswald. The small time bosses are all waiting to see who will be the next crime lord of Gotham.

Victor stops at a ramen house to eat and to continue his search for Sofia. He’s sure after what happened at Jim’s apartment that she will be scrambling to get power before the GCPD can focus on her.

He groans when his right arm aches a bit. He opens and closes his hand several times. The wounds are worse on his right forearm but they were clean slices. Tash expertly flushed and stitched up all the deep wounds on his arm and back. She also called on Glowski; their doctor. She gave him a set of antibiotics, cephalexin and cefadroxil as well as a bottle of Percocet in case he wanted some relief. Victor flushed the opioids down the toilet.

There is also a lump at the top of his head from where Lazlo clobbered him; the bruising is very noticeable. He grumbles every time he sees it; his good looks marred with the unsightly comical bump. Aches from the battle in Jim’s apartment are very prominent, but he enjoys the sting of healing wounds. The pain reminds him he’s alive and that fool, Lazlo, is dead. He rotates his shoulders and sighs.

An elderly Japanese woman sets Victor’s large spicy Tan Tan bowl in front of him along with a tall frosty Asahi beer.

“Dozo.”

“Arigatōgozaimashita.”

“Dōitashimashite!”

Zsasz dips his chopsticks into the noodles and clamps onto a thick clump. He slurps the mouthful in as he grabs for the cold brew, taking a healthy swig to wash the flavors together. He moans in delight. He’s not much of a drinker but he can’t help but enjoy the rare brew with a great meal.

He thinks about his run-in with Lazlo in Jim’s apartment. The thought of another killer preying on his mark sets his teeth on edge. 

 _No one is gonna make the boast that they killed Jim Gordon, but me._  

He huffs and takes another drink of his beer to flush the bothersome thought away. He switches his mental energies to Jim.

His recent antagonization of the detective sends a thrill into the core of him. He can’t help but terrorize the tightly wound lawman to the point of paranoia. The memory of Jim’s weak trembling body captured within his arms, the taste of his blood, and how his flesh yielded between his teeth; it electrifies him each time he recollects it. 

Victor has always hunted incognito, under the guise of a friendly face or an eager lover. Or in Oswald’s case, the dutiful enforcer. He stops his ruminations for a moment as Carmine’s words echo in his mind. 

_“Victor, you had many opportunities to satisfy that itch that’s consumed you since you met him. But I say this with all due seriousness, Oswald is above you. He has a bigger role to play here in Gotham. He’s yours to claim no longer.”_

Victor can’t help but mull over his decision on taking Oswald for his own. The thought of disobeying Carmine again and the threat of exile, instantly chills Victor’s hot blood. 

_Every beast needs a sanctuary. Don Falcone is mine; my home._

His thoughts travel down winding roads of memories and their correlation to the present. Everything is centered around Carmine’s displeasure with him and the recent events in his home. Falcone’s affection had been commonplace in his life. But that part of their relationship has been slowly dying and he still blames it on what happened just a couple of years ago; _Liza._

When Carmine took Liza as a love interest; it unsettled Victor. The way he looked at her when he brought her to his estate for the first time; Victor could tell the man was smitten. Falcone had that same expression when he walked a lanky boy through the same doors; a wild and dangerous runt he rescued from foster care. But the old man ceased looking at him when she intruded into their lives. Victor sulked and refused to welcome the interloper, despite Carmine’s reprimands.

As the days passed by, Victor preoccupied himself by stalking Liza through the estate to keep her fearful and uneasy. After having Carmine’s attention for so many years, Victor wasn’t ready to share him. Also the prospect of Carmine starting a new family with this young woman troubled him. The don’s new children would replace him within the family hierarchy. His lofty standing with the old mafia boss was something he wasn’t ready to relinquish to another set of Falcone **_brats_**.

During the brief period Carmine kept Liza, the old man hadn’t touched him like he used to. He often waited days for a small token of affection either with a touch or smile. Victor felt no better than Sofia at that point; a deep bitterness consumed him during those days. Often he was insubordinate or gone missing for extended periods of time. He had many reasons he hated this new relationship, other than Liza seeming almost too perfect. 

When hidden schemes finally came to light, Victor revelled in it. It’s why when Carmine killed dear sweet Liza in front of Fish, he couldn't help but cackle with glee. He still remembers Carmine’s hands choking the life from her small delicate form. Tash had elbowed him to get him to quiet down; the old man was broken and would have taken his jovial display as insult.

He expected Carmine to return to how he was, but the old man remains changed even to this day. The detachment and distance between them reminds him of his episode in his home; that terrible night he felt something other than hunger. 

He knows Carmine will not tolerate another act of rebellion. When he relayed that Lazlo had been dispatched, Carmine was unimpressed, in fact, he seemed agitated with it. He demanded Sofia get apprehended, quickly, now that her killer is no more. He offered Victor no praise or words of his standing just barked orders and a silent phone connection swiftly after.

Victor shoves another mouthful of noodles in and drinks half of the beer bottle down. He switches his thoughts back to Jim to get his good mood back.

The new spin on his relationship with the detective excites him like nothing has ever before. It only serves to entice _the thing_ within him to hunt out in the open. The detective never caught Victor’s interest till the capricious man bested him in combat on a number of occasions. Not to mention, despite whatever odds, Jim always seemed to come out on top.

In the past, the budding respect and admiration was just that. It was nothing sexual nor did it entice him to hunt. But now the untouchable is… _touchable_ … and the coveted golden apple is hanging low and heavy with promise.

_My golden boy._

Victor smiles and rubs his thumb under his lower lip. The old Japanese woman comes by and sets another Asahi beer on his table. He nods dreamily.

He realizes that his obsession has gotten out of control ever since he’s dared to claim the infamous Detective Gordon for his own. A memory of their lips crashing together for their first hot and sloppy make-out session pops into his head; like it has a few hundred times since.

He wants Jim to understand just what he’s unleashed. Victor pulls out his phone after polishing off his first beer. He taps out a text.

 

—J—

 

Jim is in the bathroom cleaning the bite wound before applying some topical antibiotics from the hospital. He also stripped the old soiled shoulder bandage for another. While they were at the hospital to treat the wound on his neck, he got his shoulder stitches tended to.

_That’s going to be a nasty scar no matter what._

He inspects the lacerations on his cheek as well as the small bruising on his forehead and nose, from Victor’s attack.

_I would have never figured him to have a short temper. Most of the time he’s aloof and, dare I say, good-natured. I wonder what all is **hidden** underneath that cool surface of his?_

He hears the front door to Harvey’s apartment open; his friend calls out.

“Jimbo! I brought gyros! Just the way you like’em! Slathered in tzatziki sauce and that god awful feta cheese you like. Just so you know, no goodnight kisses for you till you clean your mouth out after this abomination!”

Jim chuckles at Harvey’s statement even though his friend is being playful, he knows is fraught with all due seriousness. It’s just wrapped in Harvey’s typical humor. He mischievously hollers back.

“Yeah, well you didn’t grab my toothbrush and toiletries so I have no way of cleaning my mouth! Unless, I can use yours?”

“Hell nah! Keep your nasty mouth to yourself! I’ll go get your stuff tonight.”

Jim hobbles out of the bathroom and down the hall. He watches as Harvey pulls out the food and opens a plastic bag from a store containing waters, bottled coffee, and a six pack of beer. 

He smiles as Harvey bebops around the tiny kitchen to store the items in the fridge. A bloom of happiness and contentment drapes over him like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. He’s always had a tiny crush on his partner. He’s positive that Harvey is not only straight, but probably would vehemently declare it so. He’s heard the locker room banter between Harvey and other male officers. There seems to be a competition on who can bag the most women on any given weekend.

Harvey is the typical macho man from a bygone era of restrictive expectations on what it means to be a successful _heterosexual_ male in society. Jim’s daydreamed on several occasions what it would be like to press his lips to Harvey’s smart-ass mouth. If only to shut him up, but secretly to also steal his breath away.

Jim can imagine shuffling over to the busy man right now. He would love to grab the large man by his tie and yank him down to his lips. He’s sure the comical expression would be well worth the awkward rebuke afterwards. Jim snorts and chuckles out loud before he could catch himself.

Harvey turns with a goofy grin and eyes Jim for a moment. He enjoys the way Jim’s low throaty laughs always sound rough, as though he using a muscle that rarely gets exercised. Harvey shakes his head as he eyes the bruising and lacerations all over Jim’s face. Though the man looked battered and worn out, it never ceases to amaze him how devastatingly handsome Jim looks in any rumpled state. Also, the man is _still_ sporting his hoodie. He smirks; he turns a stool in front of the tiny kitchen island and points.

“Sit here, _Chuckles_. Lunch is served.”

He watches as Jim slides onto the stool. He places the gyros, fries, and water in front of him. The smaller man needs no prompting as he quickly dives into the food. Harvey smiles as he opens a bottled coffee and sips. It’s these rare moments with Jim that really solidifies his attachment to him. Sure, working alongside Gotham’s hero is great and all, but it’s the quiet and private exchanges that Harvey cherishes. Anytime he can wrap Jim in his arms and give him playful pecks is what makes life bearable. 

He secretly revels in being able to care for his best friend and having him in his apartment, needing tending to, gives him a sense of purpose. 

_Ahhh there I go again, gettin’ joy from Jim being hurt just so I can greedily keep him all to myself._

Harvey smirks and proceeds to playfully jab at the preoccupied eater.

“You in my hoodie is givin’ me a funny feelin’ in my pants.”

Jim blinks as he looks up; he ceases chewing to process what he heard. He knows that Harvey is playing, but it only intensifies his urge to kiss the man all the more. He takes in Harvey’s lopsided grin and leering, he relents and chuckles.

“I would take that as a compliment, but I seen what slinks out of your apartment early in the morning wearing your shirts.”

Harvey laughs. “Hey, those _“whats”_ are all classy ladies and you should feel complimented. That’s my favorite hoodie; I’d snatch it off your back if you didn’t look so damn adorable swimmin’ in it.”

Jim beams Harvey a large grin as he chews on another mouthful of food. Harvey reaches out and snags a fry from Jim’s plate; all the while beaming the same large grin back.

Jim bats his lashes at Harvey as the smug man leans on the island, close enough to reach out and smooch if he so dared. His gaze instinctively falls to Harvey’s lips as he brings the fry to his mouth. It sends a flash of heat through his cheeks; he quickly looks away and returns to his meal.

Harvey arches an eyebrow at the slip.

_Wait a minute, did he just look at my… Nah! But he is blushing a bit; you’re dreaming old man._

Harvey looks at his watch and grumbles.

“Hey, I gotta go. Text me if you need anything before I come home.”

Harvey leans in and plants a rough kiss to Jim’s bowed head. Jim looks up and retorts.

“You said no kisses because of my bad breath.”

Harvey grabs his keys and points at Jim as he hurries to the door.

“Thought I get one in before you stunk like a back alley dumpster.”

Harvey snorts out a laugh as he goes through the front door. Jim beams a large smile at the closing portal.

His smile is immediately gone when he hears his phone chime with a text message. The sound makes him cringe; he is sure it’s Victor even though he blocked his number. He gets up and angrily heads to the bedroom. He can’t help but read the text sent by a number he’s never seen before.

 

_Are you **hiding**..._

_... from me?_

_After what I **done** for you..._

 

Jim looks at the text message and sighs wearily. _Zsasz isn’t going to let this go._

He goes into the contact settings and blocks the number. He finishes his meal and takes another round of pills. He’s atop of the bed when his phone rings. He flips it open and answers.

“This is Jim Gordon.“

Victor’s voice is soft and hushed.

“I want you, Jim. _I wanna feel you under me as I fu-_ ”

Jim snaps his phone closed as he puffs out in exhaustion; he puts it on mute. He closes his eyes only to be troubled with a fleeting memory of his mouth on Victor’s.

 

—S—

 

Next day late afternoon. 

She had just finished with a meeting with several of the city’s top gang leaders. There was a unanimous agreement between all of them except for one gang, to step back and not assist either side. The leaders hold no real loyalty towards Oswald, but at the same time they won’t pledge their allegiance to her since her numbers are so few. Many exclaim that she is insane and have taken bets on her death if she tries to usurp The Penguin.

No help will be garnered; the gangs didn’t want to take sides till the power shifts look favorable for one winner

Sofia is in her study; she watching television as the GCPD Captain talks to the press.

“I’ll make this quick and answer a few questions afterwards. We recently discovered Lazlo Valentin, AKA The Pig, dead at a residence of one of our own GCPD detectives. The detective is fine and currently on medical leave. There is still a pendin’ investigation so don’t expect too many details.”

Sofia whips out of her seat. The shock at the turn of events renders her breathless. The reporters all holler as Captain Bullock tries to answer questions.

“Captain Bullock, what was Lazlo’s motivation for going after the GCPD officers?”

“Other than being a completely unhinged psychopath? That’s still under investigation.”

Sofia screams as she throws a glass at the television screen. She turns to her men.

“Well, that would explain why he hasn’t been answering his phone!”

“What now, Ms. Falcone?”

Sofia adjusts her coat and brushes her hair off her shoulders. 

“We get Oswald and end him quickly; everyone is scared of Penguin’s enforcers. They dare not openly support us or lend aid. Even with Penguin losing Zsasz and his women, no one dares to contest his hold. We need to make sure we have enough numbers to neutralize Mr. Freeze and Firefly.”

“We have a dozen men ready. From what we know of those freaks, they have long range weapons. As soon as you snatch Oswald we will open fire.”

“Good. Have you scouted an area that will give us cover?”

“Yeah, an area called Bum City; lots of places for us to hide and attack.”

Sofia nods and asserts.

“Today we take Gotham for our own.”


	13. The Calvary of Being a Falcone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim spies a long lost lead that aids the GCPD in finding Edward. Victor and his team keep a close watch as Oswald, Freeze, and Firefly confront Sofia. The battle coalesces into an unexpected outcome ending with Zsasz facing his greatest fear.

 

 

— J —

 

Jim spent the first half of the day catching up on rest. He actually got in ten hours of uninterrupted sleep and now he finds himself restless and hungry. He shuffles into the bathroom to change out his neck and shoulder bandages. Once done, he rummages through his duffle bag to put on his last clean outfit. He shoves his dirty clothes into Harvey’s old washer and gets himself presentable. 

He’s been looking forward to leaving the apartment when Harper brought his car over last night. He wants to hit up Lem’s Deli for lunch and maybe head to the precinct to see how much headway Harper has made on Sofia. He’s sure Harvey will blow a gasket that he’s out and driving. The gruff man already declared under no circumstances is he to drive unless it’s an emergency.

_Not wanting to eat fast food three meals a day constitutes as an emergency. And since I’m out, might as well see how the investigation is going._

The thought of spending another day cooped up is worth the tongue lashing he is inevitably going to receive later. Jim smirks; he loves it when Harvey gets demanding.

He dons the arm sling to remind him to not move his arm; though the pain is reminder enough. Jim looks down at his clothing and lets out a huff. Harvey grabbed whatever he had laying in his closet and threw it in the bag. The only outfit left is a white undershirt and a pair of worn out jeans that he wears while working on his sedan. Jim looks through Harvey’s closet and finds a black pull over hoodie. He carefully weaves his arms through and pulls it over him as he walks into the living room.

Harvey’s leather jacket is hanging off the coat racket by the door; Jim slips himself into it. The garment sits heavy and long but its soft and warm; it smells wholly of the older man. The heady mixture of body odor, leather, Old Spice deodorant, past cigars, and faded cologne waft up his nose. Jim takes a deep whiff.

_I’m can almost smell his snarky ways._

Jim take another indulgent sniff then proceeds to leave. He heads straight to Lem’s deli. The one thing he loves about where Harvey lives is that within a few blocks there are good eateries. 

_Yet Harvey loves his burger and wings._

Jim stands in line as he skims the menu for the specials. He purses his lips as he brings his watch up in a quick flick, the line doesn’t seem to be moving. He wants to catch Harvey before he heads to his usual afternoon meetings. He looks out the large glass windows of the establishment, contemplating on just leaving and eating something later. His stomach growls loudly, ending the debate quickly.

The afternoon traffic comes to a stop at the intersection. He spies a delivery truck with white cardboard on the side of it. A large flap had come loose and is curled back. He can’t believe what he is seeing; his eyes grow wide. There, just under the dilapidated cover, is the logo of a bird carrying a small package in its beak.

He nearly knocks down an elderly lady as he tries to go around the long queue.

“Watch it you, ass!”

He feels the swish of her purse; it nearly connects with him as he hurries towards the doors. He hustles, as much as his wounds will allow, to his car while his eyes keep track of the truck’s location. Though the traffic is heavy, the flow is at a steady pace. He tries to keep one to two vehicles between them. He continues to follow the delivery truck until it pulls up to a gated estate; the place appears to be under renovation. He drives past and parks somewhere just out of view to not draw suspicion. He calls Harvey.

 

___

 

Jim hobbles in after the abled bodied officers get everything under control.

Harvey, Harper, and the Strike Force raided the building and got three suspects detained before they could run. Jim follows Harvey through the kitchen and into a large walk-in freezer where Harper is inspecting the iced Riddler. She turns and acknowledges Harvey then gives Jim a raised eyebrow and smirk.

Jim offers a lopsided grin and glances at Harvey. The gruff older man nods at him as he makes an offhanded remark.

“This guy can’t let wounds get in his way.”

Harper chuckles but mercifully shifts the focus off of Jim, whose face looks like a slapped ass after Harvey’s comment.

“I called Fox; he’s on his way. There are several explosives attached to Edward’s icy prison and though it doesn’t appear to be armed, we don’t want to take chances. The suspects refuse to talk; they’re on their way to the precinct now.”

Jim looks over the ice and notices a large gash by Edward’s right hand. He now understands that Sofia is using The Riddler to lure Oswald into something. Harvey interrupts Jim’s thoughts as he leans in and whispers.

“Once we get him to the GCPD, call Zsasz and let’em know we have Ed. Whatever Sofia Falcone has planned, perhaps we can sway the outcome. If she’s willin’ to have a lunatic kill cops, guess I’m Team Penguin.”

The detective fancies himself a seasoned professional; not much can make him halt in his tracks. However, Harvey’s comment not only makes him stumble a step, but double-take on his best friend. Jim’s eyebrows rise up; if they could, they would fly off his face and blast through the ceiling of the three story boarding school. Harvey mutters through a tight lipped smile.

“Take the _shock and awe_ out ch’ya face.”

Jim chuckles, but winces with the subtle action. Now it's Harvey’s turn to raise his eyebrows as he puts his hands on his hips.

“How ‘bout you get yourself back to my place and for _fucks sake_ … **rest**. Heal. Mentally shut off for the night.”

Jim grins and replies.

“I was getting lunch; I’m starving. You should do a grocery run.”

Harvey looks at the time and beckons Jim to follow.

“Hey, Harper I’ll get with you at the precinct later.”

Harper nods and offers Jim a wink. Harvey waves Jim along.

“Let’s both get lunch. Yeah, I’ll stop by and get some supplies before headin’ home. Can’t have you witherin’ away on me. You look to have lost weight.”

“After all the fast food you’ve been bringing home? I’ll be surprised if I hadn’t gained a couple of pounds.”

Harvey looks Jim up and down. He finally notices that Jim’s wearing another of his hoodies _and_ his leather jacket. He raises an eyebrow and turns on the man with his hands on his hips.

“Raidin’ my closet?”

Jim smirks. Harvey points a large index finger at him.

“Fine, but whatever you do don’t go through those jacket pockets. Unless, you would like to look at nudes of my two favorite girls?” Harvey beams Jim a salacious grin.

Jim’s smile fades into a sour look. He almost questions why, but stops when it dawns on him the reasons for Harvey to carry such things. He looks Harvey up and down as he cringes away.

Harvey busts out laughing as he motions for Jim to follow him.

“Don’t judge sometimes I need a little stress relief. Anyways, let’s fatten you up! I needa slow you down so I can keep up with ch’ya.”

Harvey wraps an arm over Jim’s shoulder and gently pulls him in. The detective beams a wry grin and states.

“In that case, let’s get Italian!”

 

___

 

Ursula hops on her bike as she speaks on her phone.

“Penguin and crew are on the move. I got visuals.”

“Okay, informing Zsasz. Keep us posted of heading.”

 

___

 

“Captain Bullock, Edward is safely nestled; I’m currently thawing him out. We should send him to the hospital. The freeze effects don’t do much damage; most victims make it out relatively unharmed. However, we should have doctors look after him to ensure he’s not suffering any effects from the long exposure.”

“Okay; thanks, Fox. Once he is out, get him processed. If he needs medical attention he can get it in Arkham.”

“Will do, Captain.”

Harvey finishes the last bite of his lasagna and glances at Jim. His friend still refuses to discuss what happened that night in his apartment. On several occasions he’s caught Jim glaring at his phone after messages chime their arrival. The mysterious texts are usually followed by him touching his bite wound. He doesn’t want Jim to continually suffer whatever Zsasz is putting him through, but right now they need to stop Sofia.

“Go ahead and call Zsasz; the sooner the better. Afterwards, you should really avoid the creep at all costs.”

Jim drinks down his water and nods. His eyes refuse to meet Harvey’s. He’s sure the guilt, for his part in the messed up relationship with the notorious killer, will be all too evident on his face. 

“We should go. I’ll drop you off at your car.”

“Okay.”

Jim doesn't relish the thought of calling Victor after how much the gunman has been harassing him via texts and calls; he’s blocked a total of three phone numbers so far. 

He slides into the passenger seat as he brings out his phone. He takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever Victor might say.

 

— 卌 —

 

Victor is in his car pulling up to his girl’s location; the area known as _Bum City_. His team set up in an old abandoned paper mill that over looks the area. Tash comes out to lead him into the building. He and his girls stand and wait with their rifles out as they watch the trio.

Freeze and Firefly stand guard on either side of Oswald. A few of Sofia’s men are taking cover in the makeshift shelters and junk that occupy the area beneath the bridge. The homeless that inhabit the area have long since fled for their lives. The men are addressing Penguin and his enforcers, demanding that Freeze and Firefly drop their weapons. Victor’s brow cinches together when Oswald slowly starts backing away from his two enforcers.

“What’s he doing?”

Tash shakes her head.

“Looks like he’s ditching Firefly and Freeze.”

More men come out from their hiding places and begin yelling. Victor counts eight so far, but he’s sure there are more in the shadows or on the bridge watching them.

Victor feels his phone vibrate in his jacket and answers it without taking his eyes off of Oswald.

“Yeah.”

“Zsasz.”

Victor’s eyes widen when he hears Jim’s voice. He would find the unexpected call a delight, but has no time to indulge the detective.

“Jim, kinda busy at the moment.”

“We have Edward. He’s at the GCPD.”

Jim quickly ends the call; he doesn’t want to give Zsasz another moment to turn the conversation onto unsavory topics.

Victor’s eyes tear from Oswald as he closes the phone. He turns to the girls.

“We gotta go down there _now_! The GCP…”

Victor’s words catch in his throat when he hears gunfire. Tash and the others fire on the gunmen.

Freeze and Firefly both look towards the building behind them; they see Zsasz’s team popping off a couple of shots at Sofia’s men. That’s when Fries realizes that Oswald has made his way to the access road running perpendicular to the corner they are on. A white van races down the road and screams to a halt, two large men lean out the sliding door and yank the small crime lord in. Fries is about to fire on the vehicle but stops when Sofia’s men come out and begin firing on them. Firefly and Zsasz’s women lay suppression fire.

Victor takes out a cylinder attached to a detonation device and barks at Firefly.

“Bridgit stand close! Brace yourself!”

Firefly scrambles by Freeze’s side and nods.

“Do it!”

Freeze activates the device and flings it towards their assailants' cover. Within two seconds the entirety of Bum City, including Freeze and Firefly are encased in ice. Zsasz and his girls all scurry away from the windows the moment they see Freeze fling something towards the bridge. The windows, to include some of the room they are in, are rendered to ice.

Zsasz wastes no time and races down the stairs. He can hear his team shout and exclaim as they quickly follow him.

“Holy shit!”

“Xoch, are you okay?!”

“Yeah! Holy fuck that almost got me!”

“Freeze is crazy lethal!”

“Zsasz! They nabbed Penguin! A white van following the highway!”

“Got it!”

Zsasz and his team scramble to their rides and speed to follow the white van. 

After a couple of minutes, Firefly and Freeze explode out of the ice. Bridgit shivers and turns the nozzle of her torch on herself, aiming at her feet with small bursts of flames to regain warmth. Freeze looks around at the magnitude of the affected area.

“Shit! That sucked! I never want to do that again!”

“I felt nothing. I need to work on the timing of the explosion.”

Firefly narrows her eyes on Freeze before turning her attention to the iced gunmen. She shakes her head.

“How did they get Oswald? He was standing right behind us.”

Freeze replies. “He walked into their arms; all for that damn Riddler guy. I don’t understand him whatsoever. Get one of those assholes out of the ice and let’s see if we can convince them to tell us where they took him.”

Firefly smirks then puckers her lips and leans into Fries. “You must be pissed. Cussing? Such a potty mouth.”

Fries opens his mouth to retort when gun fire issues from the distance. The bullets go whizzing by hitting objects near them. He instinctively wraps Firefly in his arms and pulls her behind a rusted frame of a car. They spy two men firing from the top of the bridge; just off to the left of the top most ice cap.

Firefly cranks a few levers on her torch and opens her tanks all the way. “Stand back, it’s gonna get hot. Might wanna take cover _— now_.”

Fries hustles away as soon as Firefly stands. She opens her torch; a torrent of fire unleashes. Asphalt, paint job on cars, and half of the bridge along with Bum City, go up in flames. 

Freeze lowers his goggles as soon he rounds around a dumpster. He slaps a button on his utility belt; his headpiece encloses with a thick thermal glass dome. He cranks his coolant all the way on full blast.

The bright flash of what he can only describe as a fire tornado radiates it brilliance. The area is rocked by a large explosion.

_The ice! Bridgit! Shit!_

He quickly looks around his cover and witnesses the bridge come tumbling down from the fire and ice explosion. Firefly releases the trigger on her torch and whistles appreciatively at the chaos before her. 

Freeze comes over and stands besides the proud fire wielder. He shakes his head at the magnitude of the destruction. Everything within a wide radius of Firefly’s torch is blackened and melted or has entirely disappeared from existence. The bridge, Bum City, and their icy captives are gone.

Freeze presses a button on his voice emitter and puffs out a breath.

“I’ll never beat you in a head on battle of fire and ice.”

Firefly turns with a large grin as she shakes her hips from side to side. “I wish I was recording so I can replay that forever and ever.”

Freeze flashes her a smirk as he wraps an arm over her shoulder, bringing her in for a quick hug. Bridget’s eyes nearly pop out of her eye sockets with the gesture. Fries comments with his typical monotone air.

“Thought you went up with the ice. That was dangerous.”

He lets her go and walks away to inspect the destruction and to look for any survivors. Bridgit stares at Victor’s back with her mouth agape unable to process the concern or the embrace.

Vehicles approaching ruined bridge come to a screaming halt; the area is still engulfed in flames. Freeze shakes his head.

“Our guys are obliterated...damn. Let’s get out of here before the cops show up.”

Bridgit smiles and replies. “I was a bit overzealous with the fire power.”

The sound of car horns blaring from behind them get their attention. Off down the street a couple of cars stop; two men get out. They beckon Freeze and Firefly over as they hold up their hands.

Firefly narrows her eyes as she and Freeze approach with their weapons drawn. As soon as they get closer, Firefly looks the two old men up and down blurts out.

“I know who you are. You’re Carmine Falcone!”

Carmine nods as he and Savelli lower their hands.

Freeze quirks an eyebrow at Bridgit and leans in to whisper.

“Who?”

Firefly rolls her eyes at Victor and says.

“The man was once the kingpin of Gotham; the father of Sophia. The _woman_ who currently has Oswald? Ring a bell?”

Freeze grits his teeth and raises his weapon as he comes in closer to the men.

“What do you want!? Better make it quick and no funny business.”

Carmine smiles at the tall frozen man and nods.

_I can see why Zsasz had to get his frustration out over him._

“I assure you, what my daughter is doing goes against my desires. I want to stop her. I know where she and her men have Oswald. We better hurry.”

Bridgit shrugs and chirps. “Fine!”

Freeze begins backing away as he shakes his head, but feels himself roughly yanked forward. Firefly has his arm in a death grip as she follows the two men back to their cars.

 

— 卌 —

 

Sofia growls as she throws her phone. She turns her attention to the few men that remain.

“The GCPD have Edward and the others are dead. We need to kill Oswald quickly. Are the cameras up and running?”

“Yes, Ms. Falcone.”

Sofia walks down into the basement of the empty home. She smiles at the small man strapped to a thick wooden chair. His face is bruised, his finery crumpled, and his eyes wet with tears. Sofia quickly nods to one of her men to press record as she readies her gun.

“I’m afraid this is going to have to be quick Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald croaks out.

“Where’s Edward?”

Sofia’s chin lifts as she holds up a deadman’s detonator. Though it has no power now; the small crime lord is still none the wiser.

“He’s not far and within range of this detonator. The cameras are rolling Oswald, I’m going to send this out so everyone knows that the _King of Gotham_ is no more.”

Sofia aims her gun at the blubbering man. She sneers as she asks.

“Any last words?”

Oswald looks up and breathlessly says.

“I love you, Ed.”

Sofia raises an eyebrow and laughs.

“Sentimental fool!”

Sofia’s attention is grabbed when the sound of gunfire issues on the first floor of the home. She grits her teeth as she takes aim again to kill the man. A sudden shot is heard; a white hot searing pain fires up her arm. She looks to where her index finger and middle finger once were; her gun is skidding across the cement floor of the basement. A couple of more shots ring through the small space; the two men with her are dead. A familiar cheery voice greets her.

“Oh hey, Sofia!”

She turns; Zsasz is at a tiny window peering into the basement, his smooth face cracked into a large smile. His left hand is shoved through the opening as he keeps the woman in his sights.

Sofia runs for the stairs to escape. Victor fires his entire clip at her, missing on purpose. He shouts at Oswald.

“Hey, you okay in there Penguin?”

Oswald screams. “Victor! She has Edward strapped to bombs!!”

Victor chuckles as he replies. “Not anymore. Umm. Hold tight. I got some unfinished business to handle.”

Victor watches as a few men coming running towards him, he recognizes them; a small time gang that has been giving Oswald trouble. Their weapons are drawn; Zsasz grits his teeth. He knows he can probably pop off a few but their numbers are still many. Another group of them run into the house.

“Victor Zsasz, we side with Sofia Falcone.”

The man speaking is head of the gang, Big G, is what he goes by.

“I’ll be infamous for killin’ Victor Zsasz.”

Victor flashes a large grin as he grips his guns tighter. “You _are_ and _will_ **forever** be nothing.”

A freeze ray cuts through the scene as the men take aim. Victor stumbles backwards and shields his eyes from the bright light. He lowers his arm from his face and is greeted with a comical scene; all the men are frozen in place. He turns his head and sees Firefly and Freeze approach him. 

“Zsasz, where’s Penguin!?”

Victor points at the small window. “We better get in there. A whole buncha punks ran in.”

Firefly is first to run into the building. Freeze pauses and states.

“Thanks for helping earlier.”

He gives Zsasz a nod before following her in. The gunman quickly follows. Carmine and Savelli along with several men, exit their cars and run in after the trio.Tash and his team are currently sweeping the rooms and engaging with Sofia’s men. Freeze and Firefly deal with the new arrivals while Falcone and his loyalist assist. After clearing most of the main floor, Victor runs down to the basement; Freeze and Firefly follow hot on his heels.

“Zsasz! Hello? Someone! Get me out of here!”

Oswald’s battered face brightens when he sees his rescue squad. Zsasz takes out a knife and cuts the binds loose. Freeze hurries to the small man’s side and helps him up. Oswald holds on tightly to his icy enforcer as he questions frantically.

“So, Edward is safe? Sofia doesn’t have him?”

Victor nods and scrunches his face dubiously. “I guess. If you think being in the hands of the GCPD and Arkham officials as safe? _Sure…_ yeah.”  Victor shrugs.

Oswald nods; Arkham having custody of Edward is barely a fate better than dying at Sofia’s hand. His anguish still stings deep regardless of the new predicament. He inhales a sharp breath and addresses Freeze and Firefly.

“Let’s get out of here before the cops come.”

Oswald turns to Zsasz; his pride humbled. The assassin had no reason to lend aid especially after the horrible way he handled the entire situation. Zsasz was only trying to help— _to reason with him_. He wouldn’t hear any of it. Despite it all, Victor still came running to his side. His voice cracks.

“Victor, please come back to me.”

Zsasz is about to answer when he remembers he has to catch Sofia. He runs up the stairs and joins in the fray. Tash and the girls along with Savelli’s men neutralized Sofia’s men. Victor spies Savelli in the study finishing off the last of them.

“Where’s Carmine?!”

Savelli points towards the kitchen. “He went chasing after Sofia.”

Victor rushes into the kitchen; the door to the garage is opened. He hears a shot fired as he crosses the threshold; Carmine is falling to the ground. Victor dives and catches him before he hits his head on the hard floor. He lowers Carmine to the ground and looks him over. A startling pool of blood begins seeping past his suit.

Carmine looks up at him and smiles weakly. Victor seethes as he faces Sofia who has a gun aimed on them.

“I don’t care what happens to me as long as I kill you!”

Sofia is about to finish both of them off when she hears people approaching behind her.

“GCPD! Lower your weapon Ms. Falcone!”

Harvey and Harper have their weapons drawn. Several police cars sound their approach.

Sofia turns her head to see the captain and detective approach from the garden gates. She returns her attention to Zsasz and quickly raises her gun.

“Die!!”

Harvey shoots and clips her on the shoulder. She falls, but still has her gun. She fires off a couple of wild shoots as she goes down; Harvey reacts and shoots her in the head. Zsasz takes a bullet to his upper arm; he used himself as a shield to protect Carmine.

Tash and the girls come running out to help Victor. Zsasz shakes his head at them. 

“Stand down.”

“Victor… “

Zsasz turns his attention to Carmine who seems to be losing consciousness. His eyes grow wide; he quickly applies pressure to the seeping wound site. Tash screams at the cops.

“Do something! Call an ambulance!”

Harvey turns to Harper.

“Take the others and sweep the house.”

“Captain? Shouldn’t we arrest Victor Zsasz and his women?”

Harvey nods towards the house and says in a measured tone.

“Please detective, I’ll handle this. Call for EMS, the old man is losin’ alotta blood!”

Harper raises an eyebrow at the captain before calling for an ambulance. She then runs inside the house to take charge of the rest of the officers joining the scene.”

Zsasz continues to cradle Carmine in his arms as he applies pressure to his chest wound. That awful weight returns, his eyes begin stinging. 

“Zsasz, I got this.”

Harvey places his hand over Victor’s and nods for him to leave. 

“This is for you savin’ Jim’s life. Now get the hell outta here. I’ll make sure Carmine is taken care of. Go before more officers arrive!”

Tash and Xoch swoop down to collect the reluctant gunman. They get him to his feet and begin hauling him towards the backyard gates. Victor’s eyes never tear from Carmine’s as he’s whisked away.

   

___

 

Victor sits on his couch in his main headquarters. He watches as the rain fall obscures the nightscape of Gotham’s neon lights and traffic glare. Glowski is busily cleaning her instruments after removing the bullet from Victor’s arm and stitching him up.

“You’re having quite the run of injuries lately. Keep taking those antibiotics. I’ve given Tash authority to get you another prescription refill.”

Victor nods.

“Thanks for comin’ on such short notice.”

Glowski shrugs and smirks. “I hear things from my other clients. I knew you and the girls were gonna need more of me, so I stayed in town. Besides can’t beat the diversity of good food in the city. Give me a call if things get infected.”

The tall blonde gathers her belongings and takes her leave.

Victor hears the soft patter of Tash’s bare feet come wandering up to him. He sips from his teacup and watches as the robed beauty plops down next to him. 

He has a cast iron teapot filled with chamomile tea and a platter of dried fruits and nuts on the coffee table. He stiffly reaches for more fruit while she makes herself comfortable next to him.

“Carmine is stable. Savelli is with him at the hospital.”

Victor nods as he chews on some apple chips. Tash softly inhales and sighs as she asks.

“So have you made a decision? Are we going back south?”

Zsasz shakes his head. “Once Carmine is released from the hospital, I’ll have an answer. The old man won’t take Sofia’s death well. I expect exile maybe death.”

Tash shakes her head. The man slides another cup over to her and nods at the kettle. She takes the cup and comments.

“You didn’t kill her.”

“No, but I might as well have. My actions led to this.”

Tash reaches for a few dried pieces of cranberries and cashews. She chews slowly as she dares to ask.

“And Penguin, he wants you back; have you thought about that?”

Victor sighs softly. “I can’t answer that. For now, we are on hold.”

“If it seems you are to be exiled. Will we then resume employment with him?”

Tash really wants to know if Victor intends to go through with collecting the small kingpin. Zsasz replies without hesitation.

“We should go freelance. I think it’s time we made our own rules.”

Tash glances at Victor with a raised eyebrow. The reply says it all. She pours herself some tea then places a small kiss to Victor’s cheek and stands.

“Can the girls go out and have some fun?”

Victor looks up and smiles. “They earned it. I got a feelin’ it’ll be awhile before Carmine is well enough to leave the hospital. Enjoy the city.”

Tash hesitates and says.

“Are you going to be okay? Need me to bring back Szechuan?”

“I’m always okay and **hungry**. So, yes on both accounts.”

Tash smiles as she turns to head to her private quarters to change.

Victor dials out.

 

— J —

 

Jim is at Bernardo’s pub enjoying the reprieve from Harvey’s apartment. His best friend called to say he will be working late after what happened. Jim’s currently devouring a stack of fries with his beer.

His phone vibrates on the wooden counter top of the bar; the number unknown. He raises his eyebrow at it as he chugs his beer. The ignored device ends its incessant ringing as he continues to eat and order another brew. However, the person on the other end is persistent as the phone continues another round. Jim huffs as he flips it open, placing it to his ear. He grits his teeth and groans.

“Zsasz.”

“Jim, I wanted to thank you for callin’ me and tellin’ me about The Riddler. Without that information Sofia would be runnin’ Gotham right now.”

Jim snorts. “So does that mean, I get to see the _nice guy_ act again?”

Victor sips his tea and responds. “Hmm? Oh, no. We’re way past that now.”

Jim chuckles and shakes his head. “Your nice guy act sucked anyways.”

Victor raises an eyebrow as a slow smile melts across his face. “Oh, well can’t blame a guy for tryin’ Oh wait… **you**   **did**.”

Jim exhales a long slow heavy breath into his phone. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what? Two adults actin’ on their mutual attraction?”

Jim laughs. “Fine. Okay, I’ll give you that. But there’s more to it and you are deliberately acting ignorant of the ramifications especially what that means on _my_ end.”

Victor purrs. “What is it, _Jim_ _?_ You scared your _perfect_ image gettin’ tainted or you scared you’ll _love_ it? And you **would** love it. I have so many methods and moves, they would have you _screamin’…_ _clawin’…_ in ecstasy.”

Jim shifts on the stool, his body instinctively reacts. The dry spell continues its long stint with no end in sight, yet, Victor offers an enticing oasis to quench his _thirst_.

 _Or, he’s just one huge mirage with deadly sand traps_. 

He stiffens his jaw and gruffs. “You just can’t hear the word “no” can you?”

Jim closes his phone to continue his solo celebration at the bar.

Victor smiles as he places his phone on the coffee table.

“The games you play.”

 

— 卌 —

 

A few days later.

Victor dresses in his typical finery of black clothing. He ensures not one garment is wrinkled or laying on his body out of place. He cleaned and polished his guns; they gleam as he threads his arms through his holster before donning his thick wool coat.

Tash and the Girls wait at headquarters for his call.

He makes the drive to the Catholic Church downtown that the Falcone family are members of. _Well, the one member that is left._ The gathering is large, typical for Italian family and friends when they congregate. Everyone entering before Victor dip their fingers in the holy water, murmuring a quiet prayer while crossing themselves. Victor walks through and sits in the back.

After the eulogy, people get up to pay their respects to Sofia’s remains and to offer their condolences to Carmine. The old man is upfront in a wheelchair. Victor sits patiently to wait for everyone to eventually filter out of the church. Savelli approaches Victor and eyes him; he nods towards Carmine. Savelli then motions for two of his men to escort the priest out and close the doors.

Carmine hasn’t moved an inch since the gathering. He turns his wheelchair now and faces towards the back. He waits as Victor strides down the aisle.

Zsasz notices how haggard and much older Carmine seems. The phantom pains and weight in his chest get heavier with each step he takes. Witnessing the once powerful and stoic man rendered to a feeble husk troubles Victor. Without hesitation, he kneels on one knee and bows his head.

“Don Falcone.”

“The death of my last blood heir, my Sofia, fills me with such despair. I blame you for her death.”

Victor’s body draws in tighter, his head hangs heavier. His lower lip quivers, yet he’s unable to stop it. He croaks out roughly.

“I know.”

“Look at me.”

Victor faces Carmine, his eyes wide and his face tense. A single tear rolls down his cheek, then another. The old man shakes his head as his brows knit together.

“I was a fool to attempt to change you. To think your appetite could be controlled, suppressed.”

Victor inhales sharply daring to retort. “I tried. I tried so hard to be what you wanted me to be.”

Carmine nods; indulging him. “I know, Victor. I contemplated having you executed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You were just a child when I took you in and you have become my son.”

Victor recoils with the inevitable words to come. He quickly unholsters his gun. Savelli and his men react and aim at Victor with their weapons. Zsasz offers Carmine his weapon with both hands and begs.

“I failed you; I deserve death.”

Carmine waves for Savelli and his men to stand down. He ignores the offered gun and continues. His voice cracking; his heart heavy.

“I sentence you to exile; you are as **dead** to me as my beloved Mario and Sofia. Do not seek haven in my remaining territories nor stand before me unless you wish to be locked away until you die, alone and forgotten.”

Victor drops his weapon and falls to both knees, doubling over. The pain he’s experiencing is beyond the pain of physical wounds and beyond his ability to cope. He rests his forehead to the ground and is shocked to hear his own breathing rough and labored; much like the strained breathes of a wounded animal.

Carmine turns his wheelchair around to face Sofia’s casket. Victor manages to peel himself from the ground; he sits on his legs with his head bowed, unable to look upon Don Falcone. The old man has dispatched people for much less egregious acts, and yet, he knew his death would not come. Carmine is cruel and vengeful in his retribution; he knew **this** would hurt Victor for the rest of his days.

Savelli clears his throat; Zsasz takes a moment before he stands. He turns and quickly exits the church. He wants to hunt; he wants to kill, but mostly he wants to mask the worrisome feelings with mindless brutal acts.

Savelli retrieves the discarded weapon off the ground and offers it to Carmine. Don Falcone hesitates for a moment but takes the gleaming Sig and lays it on his lap. Savelli and his men leave to give him privacy to mourn not one, but _three_ Falcone children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated making one LONG final chapter but decided against it. I think it would destroy the feel of the last chapter coupling it with this one. Besides it gives me a little add padding to expand on some juicy bits at the end. 
> 
> One more chapter to go! Thanks for continuing to read! Stick around to see if Zsasz gets his way in the end.
> 
> ~FC


	14. Koi No Yokan, Act One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after his ordeal with Sofia Falcone, Oswald Cobblepot is finally ready to celebrate the grand opening of The Iceberg Lounge. However, when the big event finally comes he finds himself less than ecstatic. There's one person he can't stop thinking about on the big night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is a tribute to my awesome and badass fanfic wife, Owlettica. The format was all designed with her in mind and her pragmatic ways. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> A little author note for you my dear reader, I don't want things to be confusing so I will put this reference here:
> 
> This symbol here ><, means there is a memory/past event about to happen. All the words in italics after this symbol suggest memory or past event. The final chapter jumps a bit from past to present.

 

—O—

 

Oswald stands before a full length mirror as he buttons his suit jacket. The pyrotechnics have started outside; the flash of lights turns the night into a canvas of bright colors. The luminance filters through the large windows and saturates his office; the light slowly fades till the next explosion. A huge sense of accomplishment fills his chest when he hears the cheers of the crowds gathered outside.

The opening of the lounge had been delayed for over a month, ever since Edward was stolen then found and placed in custody. He’s been to Arkham to visit just about every other day. On the last visitation he was sure Edward was starting to get some of his memories back. The wide-eyed Riddler remembered that they were friends but not much else. 

On the last visit Edward welcomed him with a large smile. Oswald found his heart melting again; he missed those soft brown eyes. Ed even address him as _Mr. Cobblepot_ like in the old days. He fears what Ed will say once his memories are completely restored.

He assesses his ensemble and ensures his hair is perfect. He’s in a black and white tuxedo with tails, he decided for a classic look. His hair is spiked and feathered with two bright violet highlights framing his face. Finally, he completes the outfit with a simple cane fitted with a silver head of a penguin.

There’s a knock on the door. Fries enters; he’s a normal man once again. Oswald welcomes him in with a quick hand gesture; he wants to inspect his attire.

Victor finally relented and allowed Oswald to get him fitted for a casual suit. Fries chose to go with a powder blue ensemble paired with a white button-up and white Oxfords; no tie. Oswald looks him over and nods his approval.

“You look amazing, Victor.”

Fries smiles shyly and clears his throat.

“Your VIP guests have arrived.”

“Okay, I will be there momentarily.”

Fries closes the door and heads below to the main floor of the club.

Oswald reaches for his phone on his desk and opens it. He constantly checks it; it’s become an obsession lately. He sent Zsasz a few text messages since that day he was rescued. None of which the assassin has responded to. He even tried calling, but was met with voice mail each time. Oswald has no clue if Zsasz left with Carmine again or if the old don decided to do away with his rebellious enforcer. Or maybe, Victor wants nothing to do with him ever again.

Each scenario saddens him greatly.

Oswald sighs and closes his phone when no new notifications lie in wait for him. He recalls the last kiss he shared with Victor like he has many times since. He often regrets pushing Zsasz as hard as he did. He knew better than to demand love from a man that knows no such thing, yet, he tried wringing it out of him.

Oswald smiles sadly down at his phone before pocketing the device. He exits his office to join in the revelry below.

 

___

 

Victor sits on his Yamaha Supersport, enthralled with the light show from a few blocks away. Spotlights mark where the biggest party in Gotham is currently at. The Iceberg Lounge sparkles brightly in the night with its outrageous light show. The building itself is an engineering marvel; colossal angles jut and cut into the Gotham skyline.

He grins at the eye catching display of wealth that promises a Bacchanalian event like none other. He starts the engine and speeds towards the event.

His mind wanders through memories. Oswald’s humble and paltry beginnings as Fish Mooney’s umbrella boy seemed like many lifetimes ago. He remembers the first time he laid his eyes upon him, clearly as though it was just yesterday.

 

><

 

_“Remember Victor, do not speak until spoken to. She takes breach of social ettique very seriously. Address her as Ms. Mooney, never Fish, unless she expresses permission.”_

_Victor nods. They arrive to the club and are greeted immediately upon entering the small lush establishment. The interior is outfitted for intimate settings to watch a show with drinks. The bars are located to the side while the performance stage is nestled in the back. The proprietor obviously has garish and gaudy tastes which are evident with the out of scale fixtures throughout. Large heavy chandeliers sparkle their brilliance in the small spaces._

_“Carmine!”_

_“My dear.”_

_Carmine kisses the hand of the short dark-skinned beauty. Victor watches as they embrace. There is a stiffness on the woman’s painted lovely features; her eyes are set with daggers as she comes in close for a hug, but the look soon disappears when she faces the old man._

_Fish smiles as her eyes travel to Victor. She looks him from top to bottom before addressing Carmine._

_“And who is this young, strapping man with you?”_

_Carmine holds out his hand and beckons Victor closer._

_“I would like to introduce you to Victor Zsasz.”_

_Fish looks back at Carmine in pleasant surprise._

_"This is the boy? Well, he’s hardly a boy now. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zsasz.”_

_Fish brings her hand up for Victor to kiss. He takes her offer and promptly obliges._

_“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Mooney.”_

_Fish flashes a broad smile._

_“I’ve heard quite a bit about you! Up and coming professional, expert shot, and a prowess that none can match. You’ll be infamous in Gotham, I’m sure!”_

_Fish turns and waves to a man sitting at the bar. The man is thick and barrel-chested, he bares a goonish look._

_“Butch, darling. Will you get Mr. Zsasz a drink while Carmine and I catch up with each other?”_

_The rotund man walks over and brusquely waves Victor over to the bar._

_“What’s your poison?”_

_Victor follows as he takes in the layout of the club. There’s a door to the right side of the bar that leads into the kitchen and store rooms._

_“Mineral water with a lime.”_

_Butch chuckles._ _“Not a drinker. I coulda guessed.“_

_Just as Victor is about to respond, the door to the back opens. He glances nonchalantly, but does a double-take. He finds himself struck dumb when he sees what passes through the door. The air grows thin and time seems to elongate, stretching each moment._

_A lithe man is holding a tray with tea and biscuits. The servant’s skin is almost as pale as his own, but freckles pepper his sharp edged yet delicate face. The waif looks to be drowning in his suit that’s two sizes too big. His long raven locks are ratted and swept to the side; this haphazard style seems to be on purpose. Pale green eyes hold steady on him as they pass by._

_“Yo, hey man?”_

_Victor can feel his body pulse and radiate with building energy. Electric fire courses through his spine; the hungry voice in his head growls with need. His gaze remains glued to the small man as he serves Carmine and Fish._

_He hears a sharp whistling and finally snaps to._

 

><

 

Victor parks his Yamaha near the heavily guarded entrance and sits back. Crowds continue to gather outside hoping to be let in; the line goes on for a couple of blocks. The event is by invitation only; the city’s most powerful guests have access for the first three hours before the doors open to the public. Victor digs into his zipped up jacket and takes out his phone. He sends a text to Tash.

 

_Gonna be away from my phone_

_for a day or two_

 

_Have fun_

_me and the girls can handle_

_the minor contracts due_

 

_You’re the best :3_

 

><

 

_Butch raises an eyebrow and huffs. He set’s Victor’s water on the counter and commences with making himself a drink. The boy returns from serving the bosses. Butch snorts as he digs into a jar of olives and pelts one at the awkward waif._

_Oswald halts when he’s hit on the forehead. He flashes his tormentor a glare. Butch sneers as he mocks the boy._

_“That’s right better lick some heels little freak. Better make sure Ms. Mooney is well taken care of.”_

_Oswald slides next to Victor at the bar and hisses._

_“It’s your turn to lick her stilettos, oaf! She wants a martini! So chop chop!”_

_Butch pelts Oswald with another olive and retorts._

_“You make it!”_

_Oswald closes his eyes and takes a moment to gather his composure. When he opens them again Victor notices how much paler they have become._

_He is awestruck._

_He takes his time to study the specimen as he and the large brute bicker amongst themselves. The blush of red on his cheeks and ears radiates brightly as long lashes flutter. The severe arch of his thick black brows offer a dramatic scowl and finally…_ **_that nose_ ** _! It’s a striking feature on the man’s otherwise perfect face._

_Victor is captivated._

_“She likes the way you make it. So hurry! She’s waiting!”_

_Oswald turns his head and they lock eyes; Victor forgets to breathe. The moment seems like an eternity, but it is soon gone when Oswald scowls back at him, on guard. He looks Victor from top to bottom; a little swivel begins to form in his neck._

_“Excuse me, sir, but might I inquire as to why you are staring at me so?”_

_Victor is unable to form words, nothing but short breaths spill from his parted lips._

_He wonders how warm his flesh would feel to his touch._

_He wants to tangle his fingers through that mess of raven hair._

_He wants to tear off the comically large suit and encase this awkward…_ **_gorgeous_ ** _… specimen in his arms._

 

><

 

Victor approaches the front doors not bothering with the line; the guards let him in.

“Welcome, Victor Zsasz.”

Victor flashes his teeth in a large open-mouth smile. He halts and addresses the guards.

“Don’t let the boss know I’ve arrived. I want it to be a surprise.”

Victor hurries in. His eyes do a sweep of the enormous space before he wanders around. The club is multi leveled with dance floors, bars, and a large stage towards the back. A live band performs [ Romantic Dreams by The Deftones. ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mkkOLMTOM7s)

 

_Process_

_You're constant changing phases_

_I watch them_

_Releasing right on cue_

_In time, in sync_

_Tonight the stage is yours..._

 

Victor spots Oswald sitting at a corner section. He takes a moment to admire the man from afar. A large gathering of people surround him; well-wishers and boot lickers hoping to get in face time with the powerful crime lord. Fries is sitting beside him; his eyebrow arches. Oswald turns to beam the tall white-haired stunner a smile ever so often. The _other Victor_ seems unbothered by the constant attention, if anything, he seems to be encouraging it. He’s constantly smoothing his platinum locks back and smiling coyly. Zsasz makes a direct heading towards them.

 

_...So why wait to discover your dreams?_

_Now here's your chance_

_I promise_

_To watch and raise your babies..._

 

“Hey!”

Victor turns to find Bridgit cutting through the crowds. She’s sporting a cat like grin as she gracefully strides over to him. Her typical Firefly attire traded for a sleek, fire-red, sequined dress. Victor nods his approval as he eyes the fire starter up and down.

“He’s gonna blast you with his freeze ray if he sees you here.”

“I’m not a party-crasher; I was invited.”

Bridgit beckons Victor to follow her as she leads them towards the VIP section.

 

_...In time, in sync_

_Tonight the stage is yours..._

 

Oswald is in the middle of a conversation when he notices Bridgit approaching; there’s a sly smirk on her face. In the swirl of the bright lights he finally sees Zsasz behind her. His words catch in his throat as his gaze holds tight to the vision walking towards him; his eyes widen and lock onto Victor. 

Zsasz plants himself before the seated man; he tilts his head as a large smile flashes from ear to ear. 

Oswald releases a breath he had been holding since he spotted Zsasz. He’s awestruck that man is standing before him when he believed it he would never see him again. A breathless chuckle emits; he’s beyond words that could adequately describe what he is feeling. The only thing he can grasp onto, is how much he wants to run into his arms.

He blinks when he realizes there are too many spectators surrounding them. He flicks his hand and dismisses his company; his guests quickly go about their way. Fries gets out of his seat to grab his weapon, but is quickly intercepted by Bridgit.

“Say, Victor how about you and I go dance?”

Fries looks down at the death grip on his arm as the small woman yanks him towards the dance floor.

“How are _you_ this _strong_?”

“Maybe you’re just weak. Quit resisting you lug and dance with me.”

Fries sighs and concedes to her demands.

 

_...I'm hypnotized by your name_

_I wish this night would never end_

_So why wait for the colors to bleed?_

_What do you expect?..._

 

Zsasz nods his head towards the doors as he holds a hand out for the seated _King of Gotham_. 

Oswald covers his mouth as he peers up at Victor, still too shocked to react. Large tears collect and fall copiously down his cheeks. He quickly wipes at them, doing his best to compose himself before standing. He reaches out and places his hand in Victor’s, lacing their fingers together.

Both men share a moment as they look into each other’s eyes before making a brisk heading towards the doors. 

 

_...So heartless we march into the fumes_

_In time, in sync_

_Tonight the stage is yours_

_..._ **_I'm hypnotized by your name_ **

 

___

 

Weeks later.

 

Victor is making his way down the block towards Bernardo’s pub. The gunman happily sips on a strawberry milkshake as he casually cuts through an alley. He passes an old campaign poster of when Oswald was running for mayor. He halts as he removes the thick straw from his lips. He closely inspects the weather worn flyer.

He recollects that night at the Iceberg Lounge. The swift flight from the crowds and how tightly Oswald clung to him as they escaped on his motorcycle. That night was electric, surreal, and Gotham beckoned her two sons into her bosom. _The city belonged to them_.

They rode to the highest point and watched The Iceberg Lounge light up the night with her display. 

 

><

 

_Oswald leans his head on Victor’s back as they watch the fireworks and light show from afar. His hands are splayed over the assassin’s broad chest and tight abdominals. The steady calm rhythm of Victor’s heart soothes his fears. He clings a bit tighter, confirming that this isn’t just some marvelous dream or an illusion. He slots his body firmly to Victor’s larger frame; the motorcycle is warm but Victor is warmer._

_The two of them haven’t said a word to each other. Any other time it would unnerve him, but he knows Victor; his preferred default is silence. Oswald shifts and peels his face from Victor’s back._

_“Victor.“_

_Zsasz glances over his shoulder and smiles. Oswald bites his lower lip and continues._

_“Are you really here? With me? I mean… uh.. “_

_Oswald loses his nerve, afraid of saying too much too soon. He feels a hand caressing his arm, the man looks out to the sky when another round of fireworks begin firing off. Oswald can’t help but admire Victor’s handsome straight edged profile; he studies it intensely before returning his head onto Victor’s back._

_The two watch the display as the moment dissolves to reverent silence. Once the show is over Victor taps his hands in a gesture for him to hold on. He starts his motorcycle; Oswald clings tightly as they speed back towards the city._

_Victor finally brings the kingpin to his home after spending the majority of the night riding around and admiring the lights of Gotham._

_Oswald walks into the large and empty space. He quirks an eyebrow on how devoid of warmth and homeliness the space feels. It doesn’t surprise him. He always expected Victor to live exactly like this._

_Victor takes Oswald’s hand and leads him to the dining room._

 

><

 

Victor chuckles when he remembers how flustered Oswald got when he pulled him onto his lap since he only had one chair. The smaller man eventually relaxed as he fed him, but Oswald wasn’t interested in the food as he was kissing him. He didn’t disappoint.

Their hands clamped and clawed at each other as lips sealed together roughly. He can still feel the weight of Oswald’s small form in his arms as he hoisted him up and ushered him against the dining room walls. The feel of his legs wrapped around his waist drove him to insanity as he thrusted against him.

Their dinner remained forgotten and cold as they feverishly made their way upstairs to his bedroom. It was the first time Victor ever had anyone in his bed.

 

><

 

_Victor throws Oswald from his arms onto his large king sized bed. The small man gasps as he bounces unexpectedly onto the firm mattress. He rolls onto his side as he watches Victor prowl at the edge, his smoldering gaze never tearing from him as he dives into a nightstand drawer to retrieve a tube of lubricant._

_Victor makes quick work of his many layers of clothing. He knows he should go slow and let Oswald enjoy the scene, but he can’t wait. It’s been years of watching him, wanting him, and subduing his urges. There is no patience left to tap into._

_Oswald watches enraptured. His lets out a soft gasp when he finally witnesses all the tally marks upon Victor’s bare chest and arms. He always suspected the count to be high, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined._

_His eyes drift to the soft curvature of muscles as they flex; the busy man continues to remove his pants and underwear. His gaze is caught below when Victor flings the last of his clothing off his legs and stands before him fully nude and engorged._

_Oswald bites his lower lip as a flush of heat spreads across his cheeks. He bats his lashes at Victor; his fingers reach up to remove his tie. The assassin shakes his head and slithers onto the bed._

_“No. Undressing you is_ **_my_ ** _right.”_

_Victor took the care and time to unwrap Oswald much like a long awaited present with all the trappings of extravagance and exclusivity that someone, entitled as himself, would come to expect. His hands shake with excitement, he is anxious to claim something no other has ever been privy to— not even The Riddler._

_He moans as he sits back on his heels to take in Oswald’s naked trembling form before him. The stark contrast of creamy white skin against black satin sheets burn into his mind and will for all time._

_The_ _initial breach was exquisite and he didn’t mind stalling to allow Oswald time to adjust to his presence deep inside of him. He savored each moment as his body pulsed and quivered all around him._

_Then afterwards, the sex was hot, deep, and prolonged. The sounds the smaller man made was music to his ears._

_The way Oswald writhed, begged, and squealed with each forceful thrust only encouraged him to go harder; how excited and out of control he got! Eventually he relented his aggressiveness to keep from blowing his load too soon. After the initial excitement, he allowed Oswald to dictate the speed and force of the penetration. He rolled onto his back and ushered the small man back onto his cock. He enjoyed watching as Oswald rode him. His moves were uncoordinated and slow. His little erection bounced with each thrust; it begged to be sucked._

_He eventually wrestled the man off of him and brought his cock to his mouth, swallowing him to the hilt. He_ _didn’t want it to end. He made sure Oswald cummed not once, but twice, before being satisfied enough to pursue his own release. The small man was limp and exhausted; Victor positioned and used him however he desired._

_He got off on the fact that not only did he steal The King of Gotham from his party, but made him his little sex toy the same night. When he finally blew, it gushed like a geyser out of him. He contorted and crushed Oswald into the bed as he chased the sweet release to it’s ebbing pulse._

_Oswald smiles as Victor carefully cleans him with a warm wet hand towel. He then gets another soaked with cold water and places it at his raw end; Oswald holds it in place. He’s smiling smugly to himself recalling how wildly and loudly Zsasz orgasmed. He never heard the man use profanity much less_ **_howl_** _, but tonight the cool and composed man crumbled. He purrs and leers at the assassin’s powerful sleek form when he gets up to tend to himself in the bathroom._

_Victor wipes at his soiled cock as he stares into the mirror. He can feel his mood shift; his spine crawls with a dark need. Now that play time was over, the beast within demands its long overdue payment. Victor’s kill room is ready and waiting._

_“Are you still hungry or thirsty?”_

_Oswald stretches and moans._

_“I wouldn’t mind eating more of that shakshuka. You’re an amazing cook._

_Victor tosses the wet used towel into a hamper and returns to the mirror._

" _You can have as much as you want. I kinda wore you out. I want you to get your energy back. I have so much more I wanna_ **_do_ ** _to you.”_

 _Victor grins at his reflection before returning to Oswald_ _._

 

><

 

Victor smiles dreamily as he strokes a gloved finger down Oswald’s image on the tattered flyer. He fondly recalls how the bliss lasted for days after it was all done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I'm really bad at predicting my final chapter and to not look like a complete NINNY, I made a two part final chapter. It's my work around. *winks*. AND believe it or not, I take reader comments and give them great consideration! They do sort of sway some little bits here and there!
> 
> AND if you haven't noticed I posted both chapters at the same time *fist pump* It only required me to ignore a few things about my life but I HAD to get this out and share it with you all. 
> 
> ~FC


	15. Koi No Yokan, Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Harvey have a problem. Both men are at a loss on how to approach each other over an earth stopping event that happened not too long ago. With the courage of alcohol and a frank conversation, the two come to a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again to remind you, my cherished reader:
> 
> >< means memory/past event is underway. The words in italics there after is the said event.

 

—J—

 

Victor stops at Bernardo’s windows as he spectates all the drunken merriment inside the bright warm establishment. He continues to sip at his shake as the crowds sway and surge to give him a glimpse.

Seated at the bar, in a dark corner, is Jim along with Harvey. Both men are talking; a few of their officer brethren come up and offer cheers or perhaps drunken words. The two smile and engage like normal people. But they seem distracted and preoccupied— _with each other._

 

___

 

“So, ya wanna take some vacation days?”

Jim nods stiffly unable to meet Harvey’s gaze. “Family get together is happening this weekend. I was thinking of taking two weeks. Mom needs help with some repairs to the house.”

Harvey’s throat balls up tight. He wasn’t prepared for Jim to run off for two weeks, especially after what happened.

“Two weeks, huh?”

Harvey winces at how disappointed he sounded. He clears his throat and nods.

“Sure, no problem. When you leavin’?”

Jim responds, pretending to not notice Harvey’s raspy gruff tone. He clears his throat as well and tries to keep the conversation light.

“Tomorrow night. So, I’m good to go for one of your infamous all nighters here at the pub.”

Jim gulps down his beer. The both of them have a stiff air about them that has been in place for a few days now. Jim’s stomach flutters with nerves; he agreed to come out with everyone in hopes of approaching his best friend about what happened.

Harvey grins. His relationship with Jim took on a stressed and uneasy turn. He doesn’t know if he should broach the subject or wait for Jim to initiate it. It seems that they both don’t know what to make of it.

Harvey decides to take a jab and see what happens. He smiles and playfully chides.

“Sure, run away and leave me here alone for _two weeks_ , all strung out and confused.”

Jim swallows and plays with his glass mug; his brow furrows. He finally faces his best friend wanting to get it all out in the open.

“Harv, about what happened when you were over at my place. We were both drinking and…  “

Harvey interrupts, a little cheesed-off with the flimsy excuse.

“I wasn’t drunk and neither were you!”

Jim grimaces; he mercifully spies Bernardo coming over.

“Gentlemen, another couple of beers?”

“Whiskey, double; for the both of us.”

Jim lays some cash on the bar and waits for Bernardo to fill the order. Jim gathers his courage and decides to just admit to it all.

“No, you’re right; I wasn’t drunk. I meant it, what I did, still do. Harv, I took a chance and I chickened out immediately after. I’ve wanted to tell you for the longest time but… “

Harvey face scrunches into an incredulous look. That infuriatingly comical _“blown fuse”_ look that the older man gets when something really shocks him. It would normally make Jim smile or laugh, but in the situation at hand, it unnerves him.

“Wait, hold up! Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”

Jim feels his resolve weaken with the response. He gulps his whiskey wishing he could just rewind and erase his stupid mistake. He feels a bit crestfallen when Harvey’s pinched expression doesn’t relent.

Harvey runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head.

“Jim…”

Jim cringes with the inevitable rebuke.

“... you send so many _goddamn_ mixed signals that when you **kissed** me I wasn’t sure how to react. You pulled away so quickly, I figured it was just you being playful— chummy— or something.”

Jim stares back at Harvey unsure of what to make of his response. Harvey turns to him and leans in, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jim relaxes a little. 

_At least he’s not so repulsed that he can’t bear to touch me._

He gazes into those warm hazel eyes and dares to ask.

“So, if I kissed you again? How would you react?”

Harvey chuckles and bites his lower lip. “ _Quickly,_ so you don’t have a chance to escape like last time.”

This gob smacks Jim; his mouth hangs open with the unexpected answer. He finally comes to his senses when Harvey chuckles at him.

“Did that surprise you? You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you. Almost more than me wantin’ to shake you when you’re a stubborn asshole at work.”

Jim stares at his lips, wanting desperately to kiss him. He begins to lean in but stops when he realizes that they are in public and within eye shot of their coworkers. He curses the commitment they made to hang out with Alvarez and some of the guys.

Harvey peers over at the gathering of their fellow officers and releases Jim from his grasps.

“How about we discuss this afterwards either at my place or yours? Figured it would give you most of the night to change your mind or for me to pour drinks down your throat so you don’t.”

Jim smiles and slides Harvey’s whiskey shot closer to him.

“I’m the one pouring drinks down your throat, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Harvey chuckles and picks up the double. He slams it and winks.

“You should know if you’re tryna get me drunk you’ll be waitin’ all night. Besides, you don’t need to get me hammered to have your way with me.”

“How about we leave in an hour?”

“An hour it is.”

Both men stare at each other, their gazes slipping to each other’s lips.

 

___

 

Victor catches a different sort of look that Jim casts Harvey’s way. The older man smiles and shakes his head. Harvey takes the detective’s chin in his hand.

Victor raises his eyebrows and quits slurping his shake.

The act seems intimate, the way the both of them are looking at each other— _touching each other._ Harvey then turns Jim’s head towards someone trying to get his attention. Jim laughs and gets up to offer the people gathered at a table, his presence. 

Victor notices that Harvey’s eyes do not stray from Jim. They linger and only when he does take his sights off of Jim, it’s to swirl his drink with a large goofy grin. The older man tilts his head as his long locks falls over his shoulders. When he returns his gaze to the detective, the look of infatuation and adoration is unmistakable. 

Victor purses his lips in annoyance. _I had hoped Jim would come around. Guess I gotta use dirty tactics._

He tosses his shake over his shoulder; his foul mood ruining the bliss of the treat. He cuts through the drunken pedestrians to his car that’s nearby. He can already feel his hands clenched tight in his gloves. He puffs out and tries to relax. Ever since his breakdown, he has been afflicted by strange abnormalities in his moods. They come with no warning. 

For instance he would love to march in there and render the fat old man to bits. Killing for pleasure is nothing new, but this is different. _It’s not pleasure, business or an organized hunt. It’s..._ Victor shakes his head and tries to name what it is that’s ailing him.

 _Spite? No… maybe anger_? 

His mind flashes with Harvey taking Jim’s chin in his hand. It’s taking every ounce of sheer willpower for him to keep walking to his car. 

Once he reaches his vehicle, he slides in and waits. He turns on the radio to calm his rattled mind and watches for Jim’s exit.

[ A Patrice Rushen song fades in, Forget Me Nots. ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Amzp7W0RkPA)

 

_Sending you forget me nots_

_To help me to remember_

_Baby please forget me not_

_I want you to remember_

_Those were the times we had_

_Sharing a joy that we thought would last_

_Memories of love and affection_

_Never really was just like a dream..._

 

Victor shakes his head and bites his lower lip. He replays a memory of when he dared to approach the ornery detective again, after he had healed enough.

He ambushed Jim in his apartment. The smaller man was taken off guard, but his ability to overcome any situation was painfully evident. One of the now _many_ reminders as to why Jim will always prevail in hand-to-hand. They tousled and fought in the detective’s living room. Jim disarmed him of his knives and guns while rendering him into a pulp. 

A large grin melts across his face.

 

><

 

_Victor lays on the ground of Jim’s living room floor as he chuckles through the pain. His nose is bleeding; his sides raw and bruised._

_He casts the towering man an appreciative smile and an impressed nod. He slowly rolls off the demolished coffee table and groans. He plops onto his back and leans on both elbows as he languidly stretches out on the floor. He leans his head against his shoulder; his eyes assess Jim’s sweaty and heaving body as The GCPD Golden Boy towers over him._

_“Why is it so damn sexy to get beaten up by you?”_

_The question throws the detective off his guard. Victor jumps to his feet and engulfs the shocked man into his arms._

_Jim struggles to get Victor off of him. A quick hand grasps onto his hair and pulls his head back while the other wrenches his right dominant arm behind him. A mouth attaches to his neck; Jim fights harder, but finds himself lowered onto the couch. The feel of Victor’s hot mouth and tongue sends chills up his spine._

_Victor hefts his large frame on top of the pinned smaller man. Jim has ceased fighting as hard, but still makes a show of his denial._

_Victor leans into Jim’s ear as he crushes him into the couch._

_“When was the last time you surrendered? Just for tonight we’re no longer good guy..._ **_bad_ ** _guy. Cop… killer. Tonight we are just flesh… desire. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”_

_Jim’s breathing comes and goes in short hard puffs more from Victor’s words rather than his crushing weight. The promise of a night spent engaged in hot sexual acts with Zsasz ignites a fire deep inside of him. Soft lips graze his ear as an urgent whisper moans out._

_“Jim…_ **_please_** _.”_

_Jim’s will shatters. He lets out a soft moan of his own. He shifts his legs and allows the man to slot himself in between. Victor latches onto Jim’s neck with his mouth and grasps onto his hips, bringing him in closer. Jim curses under his breath as his arms wrap around Victor’s shoulders._

_“Damn_ **_you_ ** _to hell.”_

 _“After tonight, I’ll gladly go—_ **_smiling_** _.”_

_Their mouths crash hard, teeth knocking together, and hands gripping tightly to one another._

  
><

 

Victor meant to carve Jim’s heart out that night, but instead found himself waking in bed not his own— _to a gun pressed roughly under his chin_. His eyes had barely any time to adjust and drink in the beautiful sight of a naked Jim Gordon leaning over him. The man’s glorious golden locks all tangled into an alluring mess. Those lovely strands shimmered in the morning light as they fell into the man’s eyes. He liked Jim better this way instead of perfectly coiffed and put together.

He had but a moment to appreciate the sight before being rudely kicked out of the bed. The smaller man growled and barked as if Victor stole into his bed, never mind that they fucked for better half the night. One forceful foot to his hip later, Victor found himself hitting the floor _._

Despite the undignified way of waking, he still manages to chuckle when he recalls being thrown out buck naked.

 

><

 

_Victor nods at an old lady as she walks by. The bundled old woman stops in her tracks to bark at him._

_“Hey, you pervert! Get some clothes on! It’s twenty degrees out!”_

_Zsasz replies with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk on his chattering mouth._

_“Yeah, I’m tryin’ to…  (shouts at the opened window.)...but my_ **_lover_ ** _decided to throw me out! When it’s dead_ **_winter_** _! With four inches of_ **_snow_** _!_ **_Jim_** _! Come on!”_

_No response issues from the opened window. Victor shivers and shouts again._

_“Jim!_ **_Seriously_** _?! It’s pretty effin’ cold! You have everything I need to get out of here!”_

_Victor gets hit on the head with his pants and shirt. He swiftly grabs them and starts dressing. His boots and socks hit the ground beside him, as well as his thick wool jacket. Victor practically jumps into his boots as he shrugs into his coat._

_“Thank you, thank you!”_

_“I’m_ **_not_ ** _your lover!”_

_Victor looks up to retort, but is quickly silenced when his underwear smacks him in the face. He chuckles as he waves them at Jim, his eyes narrowing._

_“Sure you don’t wanna keep it as a souvenir?! You know, to sniff later?”_

_Jim is at the window with his Colt aimed at him; the flustered detective snarls down at him._

_“I’m giving you your weapons back, but I’m keeping the bullets and knives as insurance you won’t bust in here and attack me! Considering I’m a much_ **_better_ ** _fighter than you, I doubt you’ll run up here unarmed.”_

_Victor finishes lacing his boots and leers at Jim._

_"You're definitely skilled at_ **_physical_ ** _combat. That I can attest to.”_

_Jim vanishes, then reappears with Victor’s guns and holster, ready to fling them down. Victor holds up his hand in a gesture for Jim to stop._

_“Jim, those are very dear to me!”_

_Jim sneers down at him. Victor clasps his hands together and pleads._

_“Please, don’t chuck my holster and guns into the snow!”_

_Jim twists his mouth in disappointment and gently releases the ensemble. Victor catches his weapons, beaming a large grin up at him._

_The detective quickly slams the window shut and stares down at the grateful gunslinger._

_Victor smiles as he brings his left hand to his mouth, blowing the perturbed man a kiss_. _He then lays it on his heart as he eyes Jim one last time before walking away._

 

><

 

A couple of weeks later Victor tried for repeat of that night’s performance, but instead he was met with gunfire. Jim was not playing around. If anything their previous coupling only seemed to enrage the man more. Victor’s pride was knocked down a notch or two with Jim’s reaction.

A few days after that, he jumped Jim after his long ordeal with Jerome… or Jeremiah … or whatever that clown’s name was. Admittedly, bad timing on his part; the detective was already on guard and very agitated.

His arm was twisted out of it’s socket when Jim realized he was armed with two knives. He only managed to knick the smaller man on the shoulder; Victor barely escaped. Took Tash and Xochilt both to reset his arm and with the help of Patron, dull the edge of his pain and crippled pride.

Then the last encounter he stole Jim into a dance while he went to the Foxglove to investigate a murder; _not his doing_. He snatched the man as he made his way through the crowds.

 

><

 

_Jim eyes the pale gunman angrily._

_“I will_ **_arrest_ ** _you if you don’t let me go right now.”_

_Victor continues to sway to the music with the captured detective._

_“It’s far too late to play that hand now, Jim. I’m your dirty little secret.”_

_Jim quickly glances around but none of the other patrons seem to give them notice. Jim bows his head and growls._

_“What the hell do you want of me, Victor? Why can’t you just move on?”_

V _ictor stops and let’s Jim go. He rubs under his lower lip and as he makes a spectacle of thinking hard. He drops his hand and slowly blinks as he says._

_“I want more.”_

_The detective lets out a frustrated sigh. Large blue eyes flash up at him; Victor finds himself yanked in as Jim wraps his arms around his shoulders._

_The two dance as a slow sultry song plays._

_Victor wraps his arms around Jim’s waist and pulls him in tighter. He nuzzles his neck and whispers in his ear._

" _Do you think about our night together? I do. I touch myself rememberin’ your skin, the way you moved, and how you moaned my name over and over.”_

_Jim shudders as a heavy breath expels. Arms wrap tighter as a slick tongue comes out to lap at his neck. Victor’s voice is deep; his breath hot and moist inside his ear._

_“At least once a day I think about it... (hisses). I thought I was gonna blow the moment I slipped all the way in. So tight; so_ **_hot_** _. The way your body_ **_swallowed_ ** _me in; Jim, I need more.”_

_Jim moans as he turns his head into Victor. The pale man captures his lips. Softly scraping teeth and tongue work from Jim’s mouth to his jawline and chin. Victor continues._

_“I can still feel you now. I never been harder in my life. There are private room upstairs…”_

_Jim shoves Victor from his embrace and quickly walks away._

 

><

 

Victor watches from his car as people filter in and out of the pub. He finally spies Jim and Harvey exit the doors; they both hail a cab. He follows them to Harvey’s place. 

 

___

 

Jim exits the cab with Harvey and asks the driver to give him a couple of minutes.

Harvey’s head is hanging; he looks up and gives Jim a heistant look. He shakes his head and utters.

“You don’t have to Jim. Come... go… it won’t change how I feel about you.”

A sad smile issues from Jim’s lips. It finally dawns on him that his friend is just as scared as he is of losing the hope of something bigger. He wraps Harvey in his arms and soothes.

“I’m just going back to my place to grab my suitcase, in case we’re up all night. _I promise; I’m coming back._ Give me thirty minutes.”

Jim smiles and plants a kiss on Harvey’s nose.

“It’s a good thing I was more concerned about your inebriation instead of mine, or I wouldn’t be able to drive my car.”

“Might as well flush your money down the toilet; it would be all the same. Those few drinks didn’t get me anywhere close.”

Harvey takes Jim’s chin in a hand and leans in. Jim quickly closes the distance and smashes his lips to Harvey’s. The older man nearly stumbles back with the force. He chuckles as he tightly wraps his arms around Jim.

 

___

 

Victor seethes as he watches on. He parked his car on the side of the road, concealed by other vehicles. He can see what is happening, perfectly.

He gnashes his teeth as he looks on; the urge to gun the both of them down builds each second their lips remain together. Victor blinks when he realizes that he’s in the grip of another abnormality. He reminds himself of Carmine’s words. 

_Killing without thought will ruin me._

He looks away when Bullock spins with Jim hoisted off the ground; the flaxen-haired detective showers the old man’s face with affectionate kisses. 

 

___

 

Harvey sets Jim down and moans.

“Sure you need to go get your stuff? I can just set an alarm to make sure you leave on time.”

“Think I want to wake up to an alarm? I won’t be long, I promise. You can time me, thirty minutes or less.”

“Okay, but if you’re not here in that amount of time, I’m comin’ over!”

Jim leans in and kisses him one more time before getting back into the vehicle.

Harvey watches as Jim’s cab pulls away.

 

___

 

Victor follows the cab back to Jim’s place; he parks his car two alleys over and rummages in his trunk. He has his restraints ready and laid out in the space to ensure a speedy wrapping. He retrieves his stun gun and heads towards Jim’s apartment.

He reaches the metal stairs and is about to run up when he hears Jim on the phone.

“I’ll be hitting the road tomorrow evening. I’ll call you in the morning. I’m expected at a friend’s tonight. Alright, love you too, mom.”

Victor pauses and smirks. He backs around the metal staircase and hides in the shadows.

The man is exiting his place and racing down the stairs with a small suitcase in his grip. He quickly follows and hits him with the stun gun. The small suitcase flies out of Jim’s grip as he convulses and hits the ground. 

Victor quickly squats at his side and smiles.

“You were so excited to get back to Bullock that you let your guard down.”

Victor _tsks_ several times and wraps Jim’s arm around his shoulder, heaving him up. He starts swaying and laughing as they make their way down the sidewalk. He wants it to look like they are both drunk friends stumbling about. He opted out of flinging Jim over his shoulder; it would look too much he is an old cartoon villain stealing a fair maiden.

He slowly makes for his car. The streets near Jim’s apartment are mostly empty of traffic, people are either at home or out getting drunk. The street lights are few and scattered throughout the sidewalks. It doesn't take Victor long to get the limp man to his trunk.

He makes quick work of binding Jim in the leather harnesses. His captive stirs and snaps his eyes open. The look of shock thrills Victor.

“Hey, Jim. Sorry for the underhanded attack.” Shakes the stun gun and furrows his brow.

“You had asked me once what I wanted of you. You deserve the truth; I plan on eatin’ your heart.”

Victor chuckles as he continues.

“I was gonna do it the first night we were together, but you really wore me out.”

Jim tries to get loose but soon realizes that he is in trouble. He shakes his head and tries to grasp the absurdity of Victor wanting to eat him. He growls back at him.

“You’re willing to sink this low, Zsasz? I always thought you fought fair!”

“I tried, but honestly I’m done with rules, real or _arbitrary_. I promise your death will be quick and as painless as possible. It's the least I can do for being such a great opponent and _even better lay_.”

Victor beams his captive a large grin then reaches in and stuns him once more before closing the trunk. Victor slides into his car and grabs his phone; he sends a text to his girls.

 

 _Will be indisposed for the night_.

 

_Tash:_

_Okay have fun_

_try not to get maimed_

_we are low on supplies_

 

_Xoch:_

_100 bucks_

_says he’ll come back_

_with a stab wound_

 

_Demaris:_

_You are on!_

 

_Ursula:_

_I will double that_

_and say he comes back_

_with a broken bone_

 

Victor snickers at the group texting. He turns on his radio and lets out a sound of excitement when an old song begins. He turns up the volume and blares a [ Barbara Streisand and Barry Gib song called, _Guilty_ ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8A-LhOOMJDg). He begins singing along with Streisand.

 

Shadows falling, Jim, we stand alone  
Out on the street anybody you meet got a heartache of their own  
(It oughta be illegal)  
Make it a crime to be lonely or sad  
(It oughta be illegal)  
You got a reason for livin'  
You battle on with the love you're livin' on

 

Off in the distance the sound of police sirens blare. Victor’s Imperial growls as it heads deep into the heart of Gotham.

 

 

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments and likes are truly cherished! 
> 
> I had a blast rewriting this old fic into something more in-depth and Zsasz-focused. I love a dark and completely unapologetic villain and Zsasz is not only the perfect creepy candidate for everything messed up and disturbing, but the best part is his back history is so open. (Well, "open" meaning his character in the Gotham universe)
> 
> I toiled over the ending before I even started with chapter one. That's a long time to think on how to end this. If I learned anything from my dear and lovely fanfic wife Owlettica, it's to approach things a little pragmatic. Not everything needs to be disclosed. I will let you as the read draw your own conclusion on the fates of Oswald Cobblepot and Jim Gordon.
> 
> Lastly, if any of you read my collab with Owl, this fic takes a lot from that series. It sort of meant to be a parallel universe... "a what-if" fic if you will.
> 
> Also Jessica if you are reading this: This is my symbolic tribute to you and our next collab ;) Also please don't come to SA and stab me for using the proposal song in the end! LOL LOVE YOU GIRL!
> 
> The title for the final chapters "Koi No Yokan" it's Japanese for: The sense upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall into love. 
> 
> It's NOT love at first sight but a weird deep sense that after the passing of time you are going to fall in love with that person. This is also the title to one of my favorite Deftones album. Every song in there is haunting, painful, and beautiful. "Romantic Dreams" is one of my absolute favorites and I thought it was fitting for where I placed it.
> 
> Now that it's all done. I need to take another break and catch up with some homestead maintenance. If you follow me on Tumblr or Twitter, I plan on making more art to fill my time till my juices are fully charged for another writing project. Also I am open for commissions!


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